


Back When He Still Ran A Gang

by gaylie



Series: bwtslots [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alcoholism, Fights, Fist Fights, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Mental/physical abuse, One Night Stands, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, sansby around age 16/17, sister fic to bwtslots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylie/pseuds/gaylie
Summary: In which monsterkind still got to spend their childhood on the surface before the war, and Grillby has to learn how to survive as an abuse survivor, alone on the streets.A spin-off fic based onBack When They Still Lived On The Surfacefrom a new point-of-viewBeta-Read fromcomic4244Updates every other Friday/Saturday (depending on your timezone)





	1. Crying never helps Anyone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Back When They Still Lived On The Surface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5650603) by [gaylie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylie/pseuds/gaylie). 



> This fic-verse also has a tumblr dedicated to it, which is [@perhapshomo](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/perhapshomo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi how are you im a MESS and in pain  
> m good tho somehow (im not but lets pretend i am)
> 
> so welcome to the grillby-centric fic which we've all been excitedly awaiting it will be g r e a t

“Ah… Bronze! A beautiful color, so close to the bravery of orange.”

Grillby never minded showing his grandmother his soul. He knew souls were something meant to kept hidden, something no one ever got to see but his doctor during the check-up and Grillby himself. But his grandmother Ember never thought that was the case. She said souls were something beautiful. Something to be shared with those you love and those that love you. Something that said more about you, than you do yourself.  
“...What does bronze mean?” Grillby asked softly curiously, watching his grandmother from the side of the bed.

“It means you stand up for what you think is right, my dear!” The older elemental said, her flames flickering higher with excitement, always happy to be talking about things like that. And Grillby always was willing to listen. “Self-Righteousness. It means that even though others might not agree with you, you’ll still stand up for what _you_ believe is right.”  
Though that didn’t sound a lot like Grillby at all, he never said anything about it.

Which, well. Was the reason why that didn’t sound a lot like him at all.

“Please, mother,” a voice coming from the doorway said. Grillby almost flinched instinctively, but just barely managed to keep himself from as his father drew closer. “Stop telling my son those fairy tales. He’ll end up believing them.”  
“So? Let him,” Grillby’s grandmother replied softly. “It won’t hurt him to. Besides, you can’t _prove_ that those old tales don’t have some truth to them, Flint.”

Flint scoffed, the hand on Grillby’s shoulder too firm and uncomfortable. “Really? When has _Grillby_ ever stood up for himself? He’s too soft to talk at _all._ ” The elemental spoke, ignoring the venomous glare he got from his mother. “His soul is orange because it got passed down from his mother’s color. That’s all that’s to it.”

Grillby got up, not wanting to be here for this. Not wanting to hear this. His grandma looked at him hopeful and Grillby didn’t return the look.

“...I’m going to my room,” he said quietly, having to push past his father to leave the room.

He was right, though. Grillby couldn’t stand up for himself. Couldn’t stand up for what he thought was right. He was too scared he’d end up saying something wrong, too scared of the consequences, too scared of regretting it. It was easier to stay quiet. Easier to not speak up. Easier to let what was happening happen.

It was _wrong_ and it was _painful_ and it _never_ ended good, but neither did standing up for himself, so what was the damage? It was just something Grillby had to live with. Grillby had to endure. This is what life was, that’s what his parents always told him. And he knew they were right, even if he hated it.

Grillby _did not_ catch up on how Ember ended up glaring down Flint once Grillby left. How she shook her head disappointingly.

“You know I’m right, mother,” Flint said, but Ember did not agree.

“No. I know you’re too blind to see your own son’s potential,” she said quietly, sadly. “I know that you’re holding back what his soul is still trying to convey.”

Ember never listened this far.

 

The day Grillby saw his grandmother’s soul was the day she died.

He didn’t know it then. When she was lying in her bed, her soul in her hands, illuminating the room around them more than their own flames did.

It was larger than Grillby’s was, the color a soft turquoise, bright and powerful. It was a stark contrast to her small, from age weakened flames. Like it was rebelling, refusing to give in to age. It fit his grandmother so well. It _was_ his grandmother. The culmination of her whole being, all her love and compassion, her memories and thoughts and feelings. Everything that mattered to her, compressed to a soul.

“You know what I love the most, Grillby?” She asked softly, her voice a little raspier than usually. The young elemental looked up, shaking his head. “Your grandfather always said it’d be Christmas cookies.” She laughed, her shoulders shaking with it. “Well, I guess love goes through the stomach. But no, there’s something I love a lot more.”  
Her soul was shining brighter at the words, the deep turquoise filling up the whole room.

“My family, dear. I loved your grandfather. I love you and Flint and even his wife Flare.” She paused, her eyes looking a little absent as her soul dimmed again. “I don’t think Flint realizes just how important family is. There is a lot you can achieve in your life, yes, but… none of that will ever truly make you as happy as your loved ones do.”

“...Flint doesn’t love,” Grillby whispered quietly, almost flinching when Ember looked down at him, eyes wide in surprise and shock.  
“Don’t say that, dear,” she said a little sadly. “He has a hard time showing his feelings, but… I know he loved Flare when he married her. Everyone is capable of love.”  
Well, then his parents apparently only had issues with loving their child. Grillby sighed.

“Grillby, dear,” Ember spoke again, catching the young one’s attention. “I know it’s a little against tradition but, when I die, I do not want my dust to be spread over some object I held dear. I want it to be spread over a picture of my family. I’ve always had things in my life… Lovely clothes, beautiful furniture, decorations and toys that brought me joy. But none ever mattered half as much as my family, as you, flint, my husband, ever did to me.”

Grillby’s eyes were wide. “Why are you telling me this…?”  
“Because I’m dying, dear.”  
She said it with so much conviction, Grillby knew there was no debating it. There was no questioning it. But the words struck him like a punch to the gut.

Grillby wasn’t one to cry. His father said it was weak, his mother said it was ugly. But right now, without them here and only with his grandmother, whom he loved so much, knowing she was going to _die._  
Grillby sobbed. Loudly and without hesitation, he sobbed, lying his head on Ember’s bed as tears burning the sheets as he was crying.

Ember didn’t say anything. She put one of her hands on the back of Grillby’s head, stroking the loose flames gently, slowly. And then slower. And even slower.

Her soul retreated back into her chest, the turquoise glow disappearing with it, leaving the room feeling empty, cold. Lifeless.

And then the stroking stopped. The gentle warmth was gone. Grillby knew he didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to see this. But he did, wide eyes staring at the silhouette of dust where his grandmother had once been.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair!_ No one in this world deserved to live more than Ember did. No one in this damn world ever deserved _anything_ , but his grandmother gave it anyway. Gave love and support to everyone that asked or needed it.

Without her, who would Grillby still have? Who would he go to when he felt weak? When he felt lonely? When he couldn’t handle life anymore?

Grillby’s parents, Flint and Flare, entered the room moments later, or maybe hours later. Grillby couldn’t tell how much time he’d spent crying on his grandmother’s bed.

Flint roughly pulled Grillby away from the bed, yelling. He didn’t even know what exactly he was saying, something about her death being his fault.

Why didn’t he do anything?

Why didn’t he call anyone?  
Why did he just let her die?

Did he want her to die?  
Was this some kind of sick rebellion, some kind of revenge against his father?

Grillby didn’t reply. Didn’t argue or agree. He couldn’t, he was just crying into his palms while his father shook him, his mother just watched.

“Don’t bother, honey,” she finally spoke. “He’s not worth it. We’ve got a funeral to plan...”

And Flint froze, hands clenching too tightly around his son’s shoulders. Then practically tossed him from him, as if Grillby was something vile and disgusting he didn’t want to be close to.

They left the room, leaving Grillby lying on the ground, rolled up and still crying, thinking, _they’re right._

He _didn’t_ do anything. Didn’t call anyone. She _told_ him she was going to die and what did Grillby do?

Nothing.  
He just _cried._ Because he’s _weak._ Too weak to act when the only person in his life that ever mattered is _dying._ Too weak to at least get fucking _help_. He just sat there, crying, watching it all happen when he could’ve _stopped_ it, when he could’ve _saved_ her.

And he was _still_ crying, when his father was angry at him, his mother was disappointed at him, all Grillby was doing was crying. Crying never helped anyone. Crying didn’t help them or himself or Ember. It wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t make him feel better. It wouldn’t make his parents realize that he was just as hurt about this.

 

Grillby hasn’t come to his parents about his grandmother’s wish. It’s been a week and a half. A week and a half in which he’s overheard his parents discussing various things about the funeral. One of which being which thing to spread grandmother Ember’s dust over.

They’ve considered several things. The sunhat she used to wear every year when sitting in the garden. She got it from when she traveled over the world, been with it to so many places that she already forgot at which of them she got it at. It had been practically falling apart by the time she last wore it, but no one could get her to replace it.

Then there was the small treasure chest of rare coins her husband, Grillby’s grandfather, gave her one day. Ember never really liked the thing itself, so she always tried to hide it. Her husband however kept finding it, thinking she must’ve lost it and Ember ended up acting relieved and grateful about her husband finding it again. It’s just become a thing they did, as ordinary as going to bed and eating dinner every day. No one realized how much the whole thing actually meant to Ember until she _really_ lost the chest and was absolutely distraught about it, until they found it after searching for a week and some.

Right now they were discussing the piano. It’d be harder to transport, definitely, but she got it from a lord she apparently made acquaintances with. She couldn’t actually play piano when she got it, but she put a whole lot of planning, money and effort into getting it home and keeping it with her her whole life. She practically self-taught herself to play on it and ended up being really decently good. Christmas wasn’t half as good without a little jingle on her piano. It was the only thing she had issues with people playing around with too much. Not that she ever stopped anyone from playing _on_ it, touching it, but she just was very worried someone might actually break it. It was very dear to her.

If Grillby hadn’t known better, he thought all of those were really good ideas. But Grillby _did_ know better. He practically held Embers last wish in his hands and he had to just go up to his parents and _tell_ them. Tell them the piano sounds nice, but Ember, his grandmother, Flints mother, she never cared about anything as much as she did about family. About her loved ones. She didn’t want her dust to be spread over something materialistic, something that can be replaced. She wanted it to be spread over the one thing that mattered most.

But Grillby was… scared.

He knew his parents wouldn’t listen to him. He knew he had to tell them _anyways,_ but… They wouldn’t _listen_ to him.

Every time Grillby entered the kitchen, Flint looked at him like he was some kind of demon, while Flare tried to assure her husband that Grillby just _wasn’t worth the frustration._ He wasn’t sure what hurt more. The clear hatred or the absolute dismissal. He hated both.

But he almost hated the guilt more, how it wore him down. The guilt that he was letting down his grandmother, the only person that ever mattered to him. She didn’t deserve that. She deserved Grillby to at _least_ be strong enough to try. To try to put his foot down, to try to tell them he _knew_ what she wanted.

So one day when Grillby overheard his parents discuss the topic, Grillby entered the kitchen, keeping himself from flinching when two pair of eyes focused on him.

Flare eyed Grillby up and down, as if she was waiting for him to make a move, to do something. And when he didn’t when she realized he was frozen still in anxiety, she turned back to her husband, dismissing her son with nothing but a hateful glare.

“...Anyway,” she said tired, almost as if Grillby’s presence alone was enough to make her feel exhausted. “I think it’s not worth trying to spread her dust on the piano out of all things, honey. You _know_ how expensive that’ll be.”

“Money shouldn’t matter in this,” Flint replied coldly. “She’s worth the money. She’s worth _anything_ , Flare, she was my _mother._ ”  
“Of course! Of course!” Flare held up two palms in a placating matter, her voice falsely soft. “I know that, honey. I know that. Just… there’s a lot of other ideas that are just as good. Better even?”

Grillby took a deep breath. It hurt through the knot in his throat, through the anxiety in his body.

“Actually…,” he began. “I know-”  
“Know _what?_ ” Flare interrupted him faster than Grillby could even think of his words. “Know how to run her funeral? Please, you’re a _child_ , Grillby. You’ve never even been to a funeral.”

“But… Grandmother didn’t-”  
“ _Stop._ ” She bellowed loudly, her fist hitting the wall next to her, causing Grillby to flinch involuntarily. _Fuck._ “What do you think you’re doing, Grillby? Do you think you’re _helping_?”

She paused, as if she was actually waiting for an answer. Grillby didn’t have one.

“You’re _not._ You’re a _child,_ you’re too young to understand how these things work. Do you not see how much seeing you hurts your father?”  
Grillby glanced over to Flint and… He didn’t _want_ to believe it. He didn’t _want_ to believe _he_ was the one causing his parents to hurt. But Flint couldn’t even look at him, his hand clenching on the edge of a table.

“You should leave.”  
No.

“Grandma Ember told me-”  
“I don’t _care_ what fairy tales Ember told you, Grillby,” Flare said, louder again. “ _Leave._ Go to your room. I don’t want to see you again until the funeral.”

And she didn’t.

And neither did Flint.

Grillby ran off after Flare punctuated her warning as a threat by hitting her fist against the wall again. And he didn’t come back until it was actually the day of the funeral.

 

They had decided to go with the piano. Her dust was barely visible on the dark wood of the instrument.

There were a lot of people at the funeral. Most of them, though not all, fire elementals or fire-based monsters. Some were married into the family or good friends or acquaintances of Ember. But point was, there were a _lot_ of monsters, making Grillby feel even more uncomfortable than usually.

He knew he shouldn’t. This wasn’t about him and his irrational fear of crowds. This was about his grandmother. About grieving for her. About paying her her last respect. About saying goodbye, so he could move on.

Not that Grillby really _could_ move on, his grandmother had played a too important part in his life for him to just _move on_ from that. She was the one monster he could always rely on.

And how did he act in return?  
He couldn’t even fulfill her last wish. He couldn’t even make sure her _dust,_ the last thing left of her, to be spread over what she _really_ loved most. He couldn’t even do _that._

Grillby didn’t grieve on the funeral, and this might be one of his biggest regrets. He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye. He didn’t get the chance to embrace his pain. He was too busy feeling guilty, feeling anxious, feeling awful altogether, but for all the wrong reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's at the moment pretty much up to you guys which fic will update first, next week, so i'm basing it on the response i get  
> if u want this fic to update next week, leave a comment and/or let me know on my tumblr (link in the end&beginning notes later)


	2. Who even understands History Teachers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup my fresh noodles, hope youre ready for this juicy nutrition for your starved soul

Grillby wasn’t sure what he hated more. Being at home, the place where he had to hide from his parents, where he got threatened, where he got degraded and insulted, with _no one_ to escape to, now that his grandmother was dead.

Or being in school.

Now, school wasn’t that bad. At least it _shouldn’t_ be. He never got bullied in school, he had ‘friends,’ though they were really more likely people that just ended up hanging out with them in school. He wasn’t really good in class, though, no matter how much he studied, when he studied.

But class wasn’t really the issue about school, at least not most of it.

He didn’t like… crowds. He couldn’t explain it. It’s not like he was scared of _people themselves._ He barely knew them, but he knew they weren’t really a threat to him. He was sure he could fight enough if he really had to. He just really hated crowds. Hated being around a lot of people. It made him nervous, almost anxious, as if he was going to get run over by the hordes of monsters and humans.

He also didn’t like attention. It’s not something he grew up with in his home, and he didn’t know how to deal with it in school either. Usually he ended up doing nothing. Sometimes he ended up responding with ice cold honesty. But the outcome was always the same.

Normal people would call him awkward and weird, and the girls would… for _some_ reason call him mysterious.

Maybe that’s why the ‘normal people’ called him those other two things. They didn’t like the attention the girls gave him. Well, at least _that_ was something them and Grillby had in common, because he neither understood nor condoned their fixation on him.

He wasn’t special or talented. He wasn’t sure if he was particularly good looking or not, but it wasn’t like he ever cared about his appearance anyway.

He remembered it starting when he just started middle school. He’d been fairly good in sports class, never getting the theory but therefore ace-ing anything physical. And at that age girls only factors in judgment on boys seemed to only be either ‘good looking’ or ‘strong/fit.’

So they liked him and that just kind of seemed to… stick over the years.

He still went to school, though. Because what was the other option? His parents would _kill_ him if he didn’t go.

So he went to school, same as always, tensing every time someone bumped into him, someone brushed him. Three monsters caught him at the gate, one of them placing a hand on Grillby’s shoulder. Grillby _wanted_ to tell him to take it off. _Wanted_ to tell him to stop doing that every morning. But last time he did Clam just laughed it off and _kept going._

“Mornin’ Grillbz,” Clam said, the shell replacing his head opening to reveal the purple pearl inside that acted as his face.

The other monsters greeted him too in their own manners.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, Grillby!” “Good fucking morning.” Heats and Felix replied simultaneously.

Heats had been his ‘friend’ since kindergarten. He was a fire elemental like him, except much shorter. His parents were friends with Grillby’s parents, so they always just kind of… saw each other.

Heats also been the one to first catch interest in Felix, saying his bright orange fur would match their flames. Felix has been one of the weirder monsters Grillby met in his life. He’s _seen_ animal-similar monsters before, but this guy… was literally just a floating fox head.

Felix and Heats had gotten closer during elementary school. Clam had joined them sometime between elementary and middle school.

Grillby stuck with them, because they stuck with Grillby, but that was pretty much also the only reason. Neither Felix nor Clam had ever been to his home, Heats was the only one he could _really_ consider a friend. Though he didn’t do that either.

Call him petty, but he never quite managed to look past the couple of times Heats had told him to listen to his parents more, that he was being too problematic of a son, Heats would never say such things about his parents.

Heats parents also never seemed to say ‘such things’ about their son, though, so Grillby never expected him to understand. He never explained either, though, because what would be the point? He’d probably just say he was being over dramatic.

“So, Grillster,” Clam chortled on as he dragged Grillby with him when they went through the school halls, pushing through the streams of students. Grillby didn’t react, but he didn’t have to for the other to go on. “Felix and Heats were gonna come over play Xbox after school. You game?”

“No. I’m busy,” Grillby replied without hesitation.

“Boo,” Clam replied as expected, and Hearth and Felix exclaimed their disappointment, too. “You’re _always_ busy, bro. What do you even do all the time?”

It was a rhetorical question, he wouldn’t have to answer to that. So he didn’t.

“Secretive as always, huh?” The clam monster responded to his silence, but he laughed. “Well. I’m not gonna ruin your image, so keep it for yourself. You got the math homework?”  
“I do,” Grillby responded. That was something he could talk about. Not that he liked or understood math, but it was still a safer terrain than talking about what he did at Home. Which consisted mostly of either trying to appease his parents or trying to hide from them, whichever seemed to be the better option for today.

They arrived to class a few minutes late, but no one was surprised about that. They often ended up coming a bit late, often had been sent to the principal because of it. But it’s not like a ‘stern talk’ could magically make Grillby walk faster.

The teacher glared at the three monsters, but didn’t say anything as they quietly entered the room, taking their seat and pretending like nothing was off at all.

Class went just as usual for the most part. His teacher was mad at him for being late, but couldn't do a lot about it essentially.

Grillby's math homework had been almost completely wrong, while their math teacher told them, "as long as you did all your homework, you won't have any problems in the upcoming exam." Grillby did all his homework. He understood nothing. He'd mess up the exam completely.

He wrote a test in chemistry class, which he almost thought had went pretty well, until he overheard the others talking about it and realized he probably hadn't done well at all. Not even closely.

It didn't get really bad though until history class. He got back an exam Grillby completely failed and had, from the beginning on, known he would fail. Because honestly, when did he not? And _who_ didn't? Who _actually_ understood history teachers?

And that was the issue here. Not the class. You could understand the topic as much as you wanted to, could be an ace in history. Your history teacher will still find a way to fuck you up.

It didn't help him that his history teacher was also his homeroom teacher. He _had_ stayed out of Grillby's business for the most time, but for some reason he apparently _now_ decided to call Grillby's name when he was about to leave the classroom with anyone else.

Grillby froze. Students walked past him, some snickering, some whispering, some glancing after him apologetically or sympathetically. It wasn't until all of them were gone that the teacher actually beckoned him over. Grillby complied, walking over to the teachers desk, as the teacher gave him a death glare.

"Your exam results were miserable," he said. Grillby didn't reply. He knew as much. "If you're not changing your attitude real quick, you're going to fail the year." What attitude? What attitude did Grillby have to change? He tried to study. He failed. He tried to do homework. He failed. He just couldn’t focus on the information, couldn't keep it, couldn't wrap his mind around it and understand it. Couldn't use it, couldn't figure out when and where to use it.

He _tried_. And he tried again. And he tried some more. And he _would_ try again, maybe not as much. Maybe not as often, having gotten disappointed too many times. But it wasn't like he was doing _nothing._

The teacher, of course, didn't care. Or know for that matter. Maybe he would have cared if Grillby had told him, but it never came to that.

It didn't even get bad up to this point, though. Grillby knew his grades were bad. He knew he was going to fail this year. What _really_ had him feeling a cold shock run down his back was when the teacher said,

"I called your parents earlier. Informed them of your grades and situation. They were not pleased, I can tell you this much."

Of _course_ they were not pleased. They were _never_ pleased. Which _was_ why they weren’t supposed to _know_ about this, why the teacher _wasn’t_ supposed to tell them about this! What business did his _teacher_ have with his parents?

He knew, of course, what business he had with his parents. Grillby was fucking up, he wasn’t able to help himself anymore, and his parents were the ones responsible for him. His teacher didn’t know what damage he was doing. He thought he was helping Grillby. Or at least doing the right thing, doing something _not bad._

But that didn’t help Grillby either, did it?  
“...Dismissed,” the teacher finally said, after figuring Grillby wasn’t going to respond him anymore. The elemental left without a word, most of his break having already passed now. He still found that Heats, Felix and Clam had been waiting for him just outside the classroom.

“Everything good, man?” Clam asked. Grillby shook his head no. He walked past them. He wasn’t going to talk about this anyways, so he might as well.

“Yo, where you going?” Felix asked as the three came after him surprised.

“Home.”  
“Day’s not over, yo! We still got English class.” The fox monster argued. Well, what could Grillby say to that?  
“Don’t care,” was what he ended up deciding for. He _didn’t._ He was already screwed anyways. He didn’t have the nerve for another failure, sitting in school just awaiting and fearing when he’d have to go home. He’d rather get it over quick, get it over _now._

“Daaamnnn, Grillboy’s going _rogue,_ ” Clam hollered, attracting the attention of some other students. Grillby could hear them whispering about him. Could feel them watching his every move as he walked through the hallways out of school.

Some of them were judging him. More of them were looking up to him, calling him badass, acting like he was some kind of hero fighting the system.

Grillby wasn’t badass, he was no hero. He was weak. He was running away. He was hiding, avoiding.

Would they hate him if they knew? If they knew he wasn’t mysterious, he was just scared of voicing out his thoughts after getting taught he wasn’t allowed to have an opinion. If they knew he wasn’t a rebel going rogue, just scared, unable to face his fears throughout the course of the rest of the school day.

Probably not. But it didn’t matter anyways. It’s not like they would find out.

Grillby pushed past the crowd of monster and human children as he left the school. He faintly noticed teachers calling after him, but that didn’t stop him. He was already in trouble, how much worse could it get?

On his way home Grillby tried to think about how his parents could possibly react to all of this. Would they be angry? Absolutely. Disappointed? ...Maybe? Or was that wishful thinking? Did he _want_ his parents to be angry at him? To be surprised, disappointed? Because the alternative would be them not caring, them ignoring him, deciding he wasn’t worth their attention which, somehow, was _so much worse._

The walk always took Grillby a while from home to school and school to home. From an hour and a half to two, depending on how fast he went and how much weather would be on his side.

It was closer to two hours this time, though weather was not against him on this one. He just found himself slowing down the closer he got to his parents house.

He suddenly wasn't sure anymore what he had been thinking when he decided to just go home to get it behind him. How was facing whatever they would throw at him any better than living in the unknown? Right now Grillby could pretend he was fine. Could pretend he was going to be fine. Could pretend things weren't utter shit at home.

He froze up three quarters through his way home. Going back to school wouldn't be worth it anymore, it'd be over by the time he'd arrive. But that didn't mean he had to go home, did it?

His parents didn't care about him anyways, Grillby decided. They didn't care if he came home on time or an hour late or even two hours late.

Grillby didn't have anywhere in particular to go, but anywhere would be fine as long as he wouldn't get wet and wouldn't have to go home.

In the end, after half an hour of wandering around without destination, 'anywhere' turned out to be a small clearing in a forest. It was quiet and easy to go unspotted here, plus it was practically childs play for Grillby to make himself a small campfire. He wasn't sure how long he really was going to stay. He didn't bring anything to do or read or so, his phone was on 18% and he had had no real plans on what to do in the first place.

He was just... hiding he figured. Running _again_.

But it was nice in an odd way. Serene, quiet. He was alone. There was no crowd to make him anxious, no parents to shit talk him. No teachers to throw him into the hellfires and no classmates to get a wrong image of him.

It was just the forest and Grillby. Grillby and the forest. It was a bit chilly out, but Grillby being a natural heat source made up for that, plus so did his campfire.

It only took Grillby an hour until he dozed off in the forest like that, head resting on a log, flames flickering smoothly. The campfire slowly shrunk, until it was gone. Grillby didn't wake up until he heard soft thunder growling in the distance.

He didn't know where he was at first. Neither did he know what time it was.

Rubbing his tired eyes with a fist a bit, the elemental quickly checked his phone for the time, only to find it out of power. Not good. What was worse, though, was that there were soft drops of water drizzling down the sky now, at first slowly, before getting more and more rapid.

Now, there wasn't a lot Grillby let get to him pain-wise. But water? It burnt on his flames like acid, making the elemental hiss with every tiniest touch. He quickly hid underneath a tree, looking through his school backpack for an umbrella.

At least he still had that. Now he only had to find his way back home during a thunderstorm.

His original plan had been to use a GPS to get back, though with his phone out of power that was not an option anymore. He managed to backtrack his way out of the forest within roughly an hour, having gotten lost only a little. He still didn’t know the exact way home from there on, but it was much easier now.

By the time Grillby reached the house the thunderstorm was at full rage, and even with the umbrella Grillby wasn’t save from the rain water hitting him. He knocked the door quickly, the contact with the wet door hurting on his knuckles, but he was too panicked to care.

The door opened roughly, revealing Flare on the other side of it, glaring down at Grillby displeased.

“You’re late.” She said, her voice cold. “Go to the kitchen. We have to talk.”  
“Ca-Can I chang-change…?” Grillby asked, not having noticed before how much he was stuttering from his tremble.

“ _Go to the kitchen,_ ” Flare said instead of answering, slamming the door close behind Grillby, causing the younger monster to flinch.

He left his umbrella in the umbrella stand, before marching straight to the kitchen, his wet clothes leaving a small trail on the floor. Flint was already there when he arrived, legs crossed, eyes on the newspaper until he heard his son arrive.

“Well look at what the cat dragged in,” he said unamused. “I sure hope you didn’t ruin the hallway with those wet clothes.”

Well, he wouldn’t have _had_ to, if he had been allowed to change.

But Flare already came into the kitchen, too, now, tossing Grillby a rag. “You’re cleaning the floor later,” she said, before coming to a stop next to her husband, glaring down at Grillby. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“...I got lost in the forest,” Grillby said quietly. His father quirked a brow at him.

“In the forest?” He asked, skeptically. “Because there’s so many forests on your way home?”

Grillby flinched at the sarcasm in his voice, unable to look at his parents and instead frowning down at the ground.

“I…,” he began, but how could he possibly continue this sentence? What _good_ explanation could there be for Grillby going off track and getting lost in a forest? For probably a _lot longer_ than he was _actually_ lost, because he still hadn’t admitted he actually _fell asleep_ there.

“You know what? I don’t even _want_ to know,” Flint already interrupted him anyways. “We’ve got a call from your teacher, Grillbert.”

Grillby nodded, but stayed quiet. Which either was not the reaction his parents had wanted or expected, or they just stayed quiet for a good ten seconds to make Grillby suffer. Probably the latter.

“Well,” Flare decided to continue in lieu of her husband. “There’s no way to put this gently, Grillbert. Your father and I had a talk. You know that education is crucial to get a good job one day.”

Grillby nodded again, and this time that seemed to be enough for Flare.

“We pay a lot for rent, you know. And we do for you, too, the only thing we want in return being for you to assure a safe future career.”

Grillby looked up, his eyes wide, confused and scared. “What… are you trying to tell me…?”

“That maybe you should _stay_ in the forest, next time your teacher has to tell us you might not pass the year, Grillbert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's MOTHS in my room again and its making me angery!!


	3. Skipping School only to go to the Library like a Nerd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever feel like none of your friends actually care about you, like theyre not mean or rude to you necessarily, they just dont seem to care enough to go out of their way to bother about you and your well being  
> but youre a loving person that still loves them and you cant decide whether thats good bc ur just exaggerating!! ur just jealous or greedy or needy. or if ur just being a fool that puts too much love into people that might not be worth it
> 
> a lot happened lately, im kinda feeling like shit since like...some weeks, maybe some months, but no one seems to care  
> heck one classmate even got super worried about someone bc hes once had the same symptoms ive been complaining about for WEEKS but once i brought it up she just said "yea but its normal for you"
> 
> like....... cool. thanks. i dont necessarily want her feeling bad for me, but getting told in the face that my symptoms dont matter bc ive been struggling with them for ages, which doesnt make them easier at all, just scarier, kinda sucks yknow???
> 
> whatever im gonna be fine somehow, i gotta be eventually

Grillby's eyes went wide at what his mother had just insinuated.

"You can't... kick me out," he said, but his voice was small, his words were unsure and he was _scared_.

"We can," Flare said without hesitation. "And we will if we have to. Nothing in life comes for free, Grillbert, and if you can't even appreciate living here by learning for school and passing, I don't see why we _should_ house you any longer."

But he _was_ learning for school. And he was doing chores, and he was cooking and he was a _child, their_ child, they couldn't just _kick him out_!

"Now, Grillby, we're not going to just set you in front of our door for no reason," Flint chimed in, his voice sounding like he tried to be consoling, like he tried to be the good cop in this good-cop bad-cop situation. "As long as you manage to get your grades better and pass, you won't have to worry at all." It was nothing but an ego trip for him. He _knew_ that didn't make Grillby's situation any better, he _knew_ that wouldn't help the elemental worry less.

He couldn't get better grades. He didn't know _how._ Studying never helped, he never learned how to do it properly, he couldn't focus, nothing he'd learn would stay in his memory. He tried cheating, writing a cheat sheet or copying from someone else, but the teachers usually sat them too far apart from each other for Grillby to copy and if he wrote cheat sheets they usually ended up not having the kind of information on it he ended up needing for the exam.

Grillby realized slowly that getting kicked out was a set thing all of the sudden. Not a possibility. Not a threat. But something he knew that was going to happen within five months from now. Something inevitable that he was simply going towards, unable to avoid it.

How was he going to survive on his own? He didn't know where to live, he didn't have any money, didn't have a job. He didn't know how to _get_ a job, didn't know how to _get_ a house.

They couldn't just do this to him, he would _die_ out alone there.

"...I'm telling the police," Grillby breathed out, more out of panicked fear rather than anything else. But he wasn't thinking, he hadn't been thinking when he said it, who he said it to, and he realized that it'd been a mistake when he felt a hand strike his face with a force strong enough to send Grillby falling to the ground. He stared up at Flare with wide, terrified eyes, one of his hands palming the sore part of his face.

His mother was glaring down at him, her eyes cold and hard. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "What are you going to tell them? You're a _child_ , you don't know how the world works."

Grillby yelped when he tried to stand up, only for her to kick him down again. "We don't have the time or money for your bullshit, Grillbert. Whatever bill the police will charge, they're going to send to us. You think we'll pay for your whining?" She finally picked Grillby up by the collar of his shirt, dropping him roughly on his feet. "Grow up. Go to your room."

She left the kitchen without paying Grillby a second look. His father was glancing at him sympathetically, but he didn't move towards Grillby, didn't say anything, hadn't stopped Flare in the slightest. So what did his sympathy matter?

Suddenly feeling a strong fear at the thought of his mother coming back, Grillby did as she had told him, going to his room and closing the door behind him.

He didn't give himself a moment when he finally arrived there. His sides hurt where Flare had kicked him, and the slap to the face was stinging too. But he was also still shaking from the wet clothes, so the first thing Grillby did was getting changed, hanging his clothed up on some chairs as he was unable to leave his room and let them dry somewhere more convenient.

He knew he was going to fail this year. Even if Grillby was still trying. Even if the first thing he did after finishing getting changed and hanging up his clothes was getting out his homework and doing it. Even if he was still studying for some of the classes.

He wasn't doing it because he thought that it would help, that he could pass. He was doing it because right now, and so many other times, doing school work was the only thing that was keeping Grillby distracted from the things happening to him outside this very room.

Except it wasn’t only outside his room, was it?

Sometimes Grillby liked to think that he was safe in his own room. That this was his only place he could escape to, hide at. But it was only the place he was most comfortable at because that’s where he’s spent most of his life. He knew those four walls, he knew where to go to hide or to run. It was where he managed to distract himself, where he didn’t fear coincidentally running into his parents.

Except sometimes his parents purposely ran into him there.

Flare showed up in his room an hour and a half later, the door banging loudly when she practically slammed it open. Grillby didn't have a key to lock it, he's never had one before. He shouldn't need one, his parents had reasoned once, if he wanted a key that meant Grillby was trying to hide something and that meant he should even less likely be allowed to have one.

So here she was, in the middle of his room and Grillby didn't _know_ what he had done wrong, but he knew he must've done _something_ wrong.

“I thought I told you to clean up your mess,” his mother told him, her voice cold and harsh. It took Grillby a moment before he remembered what she meant, before he remembered he was supposed to clean up the trail of rain water he’s brought in.

But she _told_ him to go to his room, he had been terrified of her catching him anywhere but in his room, what the hell had he been supposed to _do?_

“...I’m sorry,” he said quietly, scared to look his mother in the face, but not daring to let her out of his view.

“’Sorry’ won’t clean the floor, Grillbert. You know how sensitive we are to water.” She glowered down at him, as if he was the most vile thing she knew. “Do you _want_ your father and me to get a water burn from your mess? Do you really hate us _this_ much?”

 _Yes,_ Grillby thought. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he hated them _that_ much and sometimes he hated them even more.

But she was just trying to get his goat, he _knew_ that. She was trying to find something to make Grillby look like that horrible, rebellious and stubborn kid that was _so_ hard to control.

“...I don’t,” Grillby decided to tell her. Flare quirked a brow at him, almost as if she was surprised, but more like she didn’t believe him.

“Well then. The mess won’t clean itself,” she said dismissively, already heading to the door.

“Does that mean I’m allowed to leave my room the-”  
“’Are you allowed to leave your room-’ Are you _retarded?_ ”

Grillby flinched at the reply, watching his mother leave the room without a proper answer. Great. That was a lot to go by. But he knew that if he wouldn’t clean it now he’d get in even more trouble, so he had to hope that he wouldn’t get in any _if_ he cleaned it.

He left his room cautiously, heading to the kitchen where he knew he’s left his rag before. It was still there, so he quickly grabbed it, anxious to waste any more time than he had to.

There weren’t any rubber gloves left for him. They usually had a pair hanging in the kitchen, but those were already wet. The extra pair was miraculously gone and they must’ve run out of disposable gloves. Which meant Grillby had to risk getting his hands wet.

Most of the puddles had already dried up, but now they left spots of dirt instead which he had to clean up with a damp rag, drying them up afterwards. The moisture of it stung on his palms, but he’s already gotten in the rain anyways. It wasn’t half as bad. He’s had worse before.

He was just glad that he finished before Flare or Flint saw him again. That he managed to clean up the rags and bring them where they belong before anyone caught sight of him. That he finally got to hide in his room again, studying for a subject he didn’t understand anyways.

He was just glad he survived without any major damage.

 

Grillby went to school the next day.

When he woke up this morning, his body hurt. The side where Flare had kicked him was sore, easily bruised if not even worse. There were several spots on his body where the water burns had been bad enough that the flames still had trouble regenerating, those spots open and stinging with every smallest movement Grillby did.

For a moment he thought, when he woke up, he couldn’t move today. He couldn’t make it from here to his school and then back again. That he should just call in sick in school.

Then he remembered that his parents were already angry at him about school. There was no way they were going to let him stay at home, there was no way they weren’t going to give him even a _worse_ treating than the day before, if he now asked them to stay at home.

So Grillby decided to go anyway. Or, well. It wasn't really as much of a decision, rather than a realization that he didn't have another choice unless he wanted to face worse.

It was still raining when Grillby walked to school. Not give as badly as it had the day before, but he _still_ got water on his flames every once in a while, despite wearing a hood as well as an umbrella, and since it was still in the morning, Grillby knew he'd have to walk around in damp clothes all day.

He used to carry a set of extra clothes in his bag when he was younger, but that had stopped once Grillby realized he was wasting too much time in the bathroom changing and didn't always manage to come to class in time. Now he didn't manage to come in time one way or another, but he'd probably be in trouble if he got caught in the _bathroom_ when he was already late.

The water really wasn't the worst, though. It burnt, and being exposed to it without something to protect himself could end up lethal. But getting a little wet wasn't worse than burning yourself a bit.

What Grillby really hated was that moment. That moment he stood in front of school, seeing students rush in, meet before the doors, running to get to class in time. And his friends meeting him by the gates, talking to him or with each other as if nothing was off. Nothing had happened.

And nothing did. For them at least. For most of them.

They didn't know Grillby had rather gotten lost in the forest than to go home the day before. They didn't know he was going to get kicked out by the end of the year. They didn't know mother had hit him, that he was hurt and vulnerable.

Grillby never quite figured if that was something good or bad. Others, monsters that weren't fire elementals or even elementals at all, they usually didn't see when he was hurt at all. The smaller flames easily got overlooked between his normal, healthy ones. Wounds, cuts, bruises were all hidden entirely by flames. He didn't bleed, but he still got hurt. It was just so much harder to tell for anyone around.

And that was... it was something good, right? People wouldn't be able to realize when he was weakened, he wouldn't be an easy target to predators. In nature, that would've been something good.

But in a society where he got abused, where he got hurt, and abuse was so easily overlooked in the first place?

Well. It didn't matter. It wasn't like Grillby _w_ _anted_ anyone to know. It was just an odd feeling. To stand in the middle of life and no one suspected a thing of what had happened. It felt wrong. It felt like he was hiding something. Something that was _no ones_ business in the _first_ place, but it still felt like he was hiding it.

And today that just felt overwhelming. That and the suffocating crowds of people, the stress of school, the pain on his flames.

"Hey, where you going, man?" Felix asked surprised, the fox head turning confused to watch Grillby turn and walk into the opposite direction, away from school.

"Don't know," Grillby replied. "Not here. Not home."

"C'mon, you can't just do that," Clam laughed, but there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. "You're gonna get in trouble for skipping class _again_."

Oh, he knew that. But he already was in trouble. And he would be in trouble if he _went_ to class. He was always in trouble.

So Grillby just shrugged, ignoring his friends further complains or warnings and simply... left.

 

He had to admit, there was something exhilarating about skipping school. Something adventurous, exciting.

He had gone deeper to town and visited the local library to warm up. He didn't really read a lot, but it was dry and it was quiet and not a lot of people where here at this time of the day, or maybe in general.

The lady at the reception had asked him if he didn't have school, Grillby replied he was here to study for a project. She accepted it as such, not that she could've done a lot to stop him anyway.

He's never had skipped school like that before. Single classes rarely. Sometimes he would call in sick or go home early saying he was sick.

But just straight up not going? No excuse, no nothing, for the _entire day?_ This was a first.

Grillby ended up looking through the shelves for titles that could catch his interest in the least. He tried to look through novels sometimes, but the titles all seemed bland, the covers fake.

The science books all seemed to go way over his head, titles about things he’s never heard about or things he had, but couldn’t remember what they were if his life depended on it.

There were history books that sometimes made him a little curious. Books about monsterkind from hundreds of years ago, books about war, but also about making connections.

But what really ended up catching Grillby’s attention was an old book about souls and their meaning, their history, their lore. He didn’t hesitate a second to pick it up, sitting down at a chair in an empty corner to read it.

He read every single page of it. From the first pages talking about the print edition and the author, to the last page promoting different books from the same publisher. The first few chapters were things Grillby was familiar with. It showed a gradient of colors, picking out some of them and their traits, explanations to what the traits could or would manifest into in the monsters. It wrote about the process some monsters had to go through to get there, to unleash their souls potential.

A soul trait wasn’t a gift. It was a privilege.

You didn’t just get a soul of a certain color and magically got that trait. It was simply something that told you you have a lot of potential in. Something that comes natural to you, if you let it come.

There was more than just the color of souls, though it was definitely what had captured Grillby the most, the topics, the words, the pictures simply reminding him so much of his grandmother. Bringing him back to a time where she was _there,_ where she would tell him about all this.

It went on to write about broken souls. Souls that were damaged to handling them too roughly. Cracked or parts chipped off. It wrote about how breaking someone’s soul was a trust break so badly, it can and will damage a monster for life. Something you could never fully come back from.

It wrote about the intimacy of souls. Souls in society right now were almost a taboo topic. Not something to be embarrassed of, but something you didn’t share with people. Out of fear, defensiveness, sheer sense of survival.

Your soul was your most vulnerable part. You didn’t show it to anyone you didn’t absolutely have to. Most monsters never showed them to anyone but doctors once every ten-or-so years. Drawing out someone’s soul even was a skill most people had forgotten over the years. Doctors still had to know how to do it, but anyone else? It was rare to find someone who cared about that sort of thing.

Ember had known how to draw them out, though. And the book described it, too.

It wasn’t something you could physically do. You couldn’t physically reach for someone’s soul, couldn’t cut someone open to get to it. The soul was part of you in a spiritual way that didn’t manifest physically until you commanded it to.

It was something you had to want. You had to reach out for someone’s whole being, their source, their everything and find it. Find the small waves of energy it gave off. And once you did, drawing it out almost came naturally.

Or so said the book, but when Grillby reached to his chest, trying to find any waves he found… nothing. Not even the smallest hint of something being there.

He tried again and again, focusing hard on his soul, on his waves, on himself, so long until eventually a library worker came over, politely asking if he was okay. He stopped, sheepishly, telling her he was fine.

He eventually gave up on trying to summon his soul. He… didn’t _want_ to in the library anyways.

There were a few more chapters of the book that Grillby went on to read. Tales about fusing your soul with someone else’s, something that was considered as impossible nowadays. About revealing your soul to the people you loved and trusted most, as a sign of giving them your everything, your whole life.

And then it went on to describe the process of touching souls erotically, which was not exactly something Grillby has ever wanted to know about. But he read it, every one and last word of it, soaking the information in like a sponge.

By the time he had finished the book, hours had passed. School would already be over, Grillby realized. He didn’t know if his teacher would’ve called in at home or not, but he had to prepare for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now im having a rly bad stomach pain but that isnt even as bad as the pains and nausea ive been having every once in a while


	4. The edgy Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im finally getting a smartphone and by finally i only mean that im so late to the trend, it doesnt mean i want one, smartphones are evil and im having an awful time   
> also like??? whos gonna be the one to say "i dont have a smartphone" now when my teachers talk abt how no human being can live without one anymore??? whos gonna take over that job for me??? this is a loss to humanity

Skipping was easy, Grillby realized. Or rather it was like a vicious circle he couldn’t quite get out of.

He came home to his parents furious, his mother threatening him, his father disappointed. It varied what they did to him. Sometimes only yell and threat. Sometimes they wouldn’t let him eat, under the excuse that he’d already missed dinner or that they didn’t cook for him, because how could they know he would even come home?

And, in the end, Grillby ended up waking up the next moment sore, sickly and in pain more often than not. It wasn’t _always_ that Flare hit him. Sometimes she did. When he tried to defend himself, when he tried to argue. When he tried to say _anything._

But it wasn’t always that. Sometimes Grillby was weak from hunger, sometimes his flames just took too long to recover from water burns. And sometimes, more and more times, Grillby found himself be the reason why his whole body was sore and in pain.

He wasn’t sure if things were worse than before, or if Grillby just simply never bothered to care. But suddenly he _did_ care and no one else did. And school was a pain just on top of that, an added weight that Grillby hadn’t realized had gotten heavier and heavier until he couldn’t carry it anymore. Or maybe he’s gotten weaker.

So he started skipping. He skipped for feeling like trash from his parents treatment, he got his parents treatment for skipping. A vicious circle Grillby found himself stuck in. A circle he found he didn’t even try escaping. Because maybe, maybe going _this_ route instead of being a damn little stickler that always goes to school despite _knowing_ he’ll fail, just because he’d feared his parents reaction, maybe _this_ was still better.

He went to the forest sometimes. The one he’d gotten lost in once. He went back there to be alone, to not get found. At first he just waited for time to pass there. Made a fire, read a book from the library. Sometimes he fell asleep, most times he didn’t.

But it was silent. It was lonely and quiet and got Grillby thinking why he was here. How his mother had told him to _stay_ here. How she would often underline her point by beating him, hitting him, and he couldn’t act back, because he was a _child._ He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t hit her back the way she did to him. He couldn’t let his anger out on the monster he was dependent on.

So he did it on the trees around him instead.

It wasn’t on purpose at first. Grillby got frustrated, angry, and he hit the closest tree. The spot was still slightly scorched where his fist had met the moist wood. It had felt _good._ So he made it a habit.

Every once in a while when he skipped, when he went to the forest, he imagined one of the trees as his mother. As Flare, glaring down at him with so much disgust, like he was a disgrace to even exist, a curse. And he struck.

Grillby never learned combat. His strikes were uncoordinated, his position unbalanced and sloppy. But he learned slowly and through experiences. When he hurt himself, he avoided doing whatever it was that hurt him again. Found a way around it. When he tripped on the muddy ground he found a better halt, angled his feet until he wouldn’t slip anymore. When the wood splintered more than usually, he remembered what he had done and focused on that.

He was practicing. He was learning. He was letting out excess energy and anger.

Those days always left him the sorest. The forest never was entirely dry, not even on days it didn’t rain. His muscles hurt and his fists were wounded. His never ending exhaustion didn’t compare to those days. His mother beating him didn’t compare to those days.

But it were still some of Grillby’s best days. Days where he could sleep just fine. Where he came home feeling like his mother was the scum rather than him.

 

Thing was, when you’re already that mysterious kid at school, the jock that was good at sports but kept to himself, the crush all the girls gushed about, suddenly adding ‘bad boy,’ or ‘rebel’ to your list of titles didn’t exactly make the girls back off of him more. They saw him, around or in town, before school, after, or sometimes during recess when they sneaked out. They always found ways to get to him, ask him if his parents know what he’s doing, why he’s doing this, what he’s doing with his ‘free’ time.

Grillby never answered. But he didn’t need to for them to pick up on his wounded fists when they were _really_ bad, when the flames went down enough to reveal the magic underneath. Or even the bandages when he bothered to cover them up in some.

And then the _rumors_ started, and started as wild as it could get. Rumors about Grillby getting into fights. About Grillby fighting for fun or sometimes fighting hooligans or criminals. About Grillby fucking fighting to _save_ people.

They just wanted to glorify him, and _this_ was like easy pray for that purpose.

 

“You know, that’ll be bad for your future, flameboy,” a voice said from behind Grillby some day, and the flame turned around quickly, defensively, staring into the face of a spider monster girl. She didn’t seem startled at all.

“So? You’re here, too.” The flame answered. The girl raised a brow surprised, smirking.

“Oh, I have nothing better to do,” she hummed. She sat down next to Grillby on the bench with a grace he’s never quite watched in a girl before. She crossed her legs, glancing at Grillby from the side with a confidence like she knew she had the whole world under her control and nothing and no one could touch her. “Plus, it’s not like I’m failing, unlike you.”  
Oh. Oh, Grillby hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t sure _what_ he expected. Sort of nothing different than what all the other girls gave him. Unwavering attention, compliments, exaggeratedly gushing about him like he wasn’t right there while he _was._

But this girl seemed nothing like that, not afraid to tell Grillby what she thought.

“Don’t your parents say anything about this?” She mused out loud and Grillby had to scoff a little.

“My parents can stick it up their asses,” he muttered, not noticing the way the girl smirked a bit when she heard him.

“Don’t like them a lot, do you?” She asked. Grillby didn’t even bother to answer. No, he didn’t. But he didn’t tell anyone _about_ that. Whenever he had before, he was labeled off as spoiled, rude, difficult. He didn’t want to say he was _scared_ of anyone’s judgment, he just wasn’t up to being judged like that.

But she picked up on it anyway, and she surprised Grillby by saying, “well, I don’t like mine a lot either.”

Grillby straightened. He didn’t quite look at her, but he straightened by instinct, her having caught his interest. She chuckled, having noticed his reaction easily.

“What? Thought you were the only kid who doesn’t love their parents?” She asked, smirking at him. “That we’re all sticklers? Don’t get too full of yourself, pretty boy, you’re not the only one with shady double-life.”

“I don’t have a shady double-life,” Grillby argued solemnly.

“Troubled past? Rebellious phase?” She laughed, crossing her arms and uncrossing her legs. “Whatever it is, it won’t impress me.”  
She got up then, off the bench and turning to Grillby, holding her hand to him.

She had claws, the elemental noticed. Pretty sharp fangs, too, she definitely was one of the monsters that kept most of the predatory feral parts of their ancestors.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s go.”  
Grillby narrowed his eyes at her, and for a moment she narrowed her eyes back, her smirk faltering, before she recovered quickly.

“What’s the matter? Scared?”  
“Where are we going?” Grillby asked warily as he got up, ignoring the clawed hand offered to him.

“Oh, you know,” she singsonged. “Just places.” She took Grilby’s hand whether he accepted it or not, tugging him along as she walked off.

And Grillby… followed, oddly enough. He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t sure what it was about this girl that made him want to go with her. But she was _different._ And that was… interesting?

She lead the elemental through some alleys, obviously trying to look like she knew them like they were her home. But she was still glancing around every once in a while, reorienting herself.

She still found her way, though, at least that’s what she made it look like. She lead Grillby into a small forest, suddenly a lot more confident than in the alleys before. She didn’t let go of his hand until they reached a clearing, some of the trees covered in webs. There was a cooler next to a hammock with drinks inside, a plastic bag with small things like handheld consoles, games, some books, close to it.

“This is where _I_ spend my time when I’m sick of home,” she hummed, making her way from Grillby to the hammock and sitting on it like on a couch. “Make yourself comfortable, pretty boy.”

The elemental relented, sitting on the hammock next to the spider monster. She watched warily at where his flames touched the fabric for a moment, fabric which Grillby quickly realized must be spider webs too, as if she was worried he might burn them. But she stopped once she realized it must be save, instead leaning back with ease.

“Nice, isn’t it?” She hummed proudly.

Grillby ignored her question. “How can you afford this? Aren’t you scared something will get stolen?”

The other monster shrugged easily, like the thought never really crossed her mind. “I don’t keep anything special here. If it gets stolen I can replace it,” she said, except those things must at least be worth a hundred of dollars or close to, Grillby couldn’t quite wrap his mind around how she would be easily able to just replace them.

“Why did you bring me here?” The flame eventually asked. This wasn’t what he would usually do when skipping school. He should be in the library, giving back the last book he had lent and looking for a new one. He was still learning about souls, learning about how to summon them.

It was something that made him feel oddly close to Ember, Grillby realized one day. This was not that day.

“Really?” The spider monster asked a bit surprised. “You’re asking? You’re the schools most popular boy. I’m the schools most popular girl. We’re _meant_ to be. We’ll make a power image.”

Grillby wasn’t interested in making a ‘power image’ though. He wasn’t interested in leaving a good impression, in being the ‘popular boy.’

“Would you really rather be alone?” The girl asked when she realized Grillby wasn’t answering. She was crossing her arms, glancing at Grillby like she couldn’t quite believe how foolish he was being. “Isn’t it sad to have no friends like that? You should consider yourself lucky, especially when I’m willing to hang out during school time with you like that. You won’t find anyone else that would.”

Well… That much was true, though, wasn’t it? Even if Grillby didn’t like admitting it, there was some sort of shame of spending all his time alone, when everyone else had friends.

“...I suppose,” he finally relented, and he could already hear the girl cackling happily with her win.

“Well then, lie back. Relax. This base is ours now.”

 

She wasn’t kidding either, Grillby realized soon. The times he could get to the library or to his own forest clearing to train kept getting rarer and rarer. Instead the girl found him _somewhere,_ always pushing him to come with her. She brought him to different places, often ‘their base’ in the forest. Sometimes they went to an ice cream parlor or a movie.

What was good was that she seemed to have no problem with being the one doing the talking. She waited for Grillby to add his input sometimes, but she was still more than fine with talking for the most time, accepting short answers from the elemental.

It only happened rarely that Grillby initiated something himself, that he told her or asked her something.

“What’s your name?” Was one of those rare times. Because, well. It had been a week now since they met and he still didn’t know her name.

And she laughed. He knew he should've expected it, he just asked her for her _name_ after almost a _week_ of knowing her. But he still sort of wished she hadn't laughed. He thought she would tell him eventually, she just never did until now.

"You really don't know?" She asked, like she couldn't believe it. She did, oh, Grillby knew she did. Her look conveyed something like she knew exactly just how uncomfortable this was for him, that he hadn't known the whole time. But she still asked.

To rub it in? Maybe? To feel better about herself, to 'assert dominance.'

"Well, deary, it's Muffet," she finally told him, though. "And don't worry. _I_ know your name, Grillbert."

He almost flinched at the name.

"It's... Grillby," he said, suddenly hesitant. Anxious. She blinked surprised. Genuinely surprised, like being wrong was something she's never had to experience before.

"Well, alright then, Grillby," the spider monster said eventually, deciding to just go along. Grillby wasn't sure whether she knew 'Grillby' was just a nickname he went by, that she hadn't _really_ been wrong by calling him Grillbert. He didn't ask or tell her either.

She stopped calling him Grillbert. That was all he wanted.

"So why ask now?" Muffet mused out loud eventually. "Why not before? Or never at all?" She was swinging her legs a little. They were both sitting on a park bench, Muffet holding an ice cream cone in her hand. They had _wanted_ to stay at the parlor, but at some point got kicked out once the monster working there picked up on that the two were skipping school. They had told them to go back to school, but like hell Grillby and Muffet had.

Grillby shrugged in reply. "Didn't get to before," he tried to explain. "Did now." He didn't 'get to' before, because he hadn't known how to approach it. He thought it would be natural for him to find out at some point, that she would tell him, but she never did. And _asking_ just always seemed so... out of place. But he couldn't always have her in his life as the nameless girl, he had to find out at some point, so he got his damn shit together to ask finally.

And he knew it just made it seem all the weirder. That he would've waited so long, only to ask now, when he could've done the _exact same_ so much earlier.

"Finally getting interested, hmm?" She cooed a good bit full of herself. Grillby decided not to give this an answer. He couldn't say yes, because he knew if he would wake up one day and Muffet wouldn't be there to wait for him, he wouldn't care. Wouldn't mind. But he also couldn't say no, because well. That was rude. Also he was, in a way, interested. Enough to bother finding out her name. Enough to not just ignore her and move away, do his own thing.

She didn't just glorify him like the other girls seemed to do. It was... new. It was interesting. He _was_ interested.

 

Grillby didn't realize the deeper meaning behind her question until another week passed. He hadn't realized why she was sticking to him so much, taking him to so many places. Not until they were sitting by a tree at their 'base' and Muffet put an arm on his shoulder.

He wanted to shake her off at first, wanted to tell her to let go. He didn't mind hanging out with her, didn't mind being close to her, but getting touched was something that ran all and more alarms inside of him.

But he didn't even get to. Her hold was firm, her claws almost digging into him as she suddenly leaned into Grillby, her lips touching where his were.

He didn't even remember how it came to that. What happened that made Muffet think this was a good moment to kiss him. Did they have an actual, meaningful conversation? Did she talk about leaving a power image again, about being practically made for each other?

Or maybe, and this one Grillby suspected the most years afterwards, maybe she just got sick of waiting for the right moment. The way Grillby had one day just decided to ask for her name, Muffet had now decided to kiss him.

It was Grillby's first kiss with a girl. And it wasn't even a real one, like with tongue and all. They were barely teenagers, children, they didn't _know_ how things worked yet.

But it was still a kiss. One that made Grillby freeze up for the moment, one that had him shocked, taken by surprise.

Muffet didn’t move when the kiss was ‘over,’ but Grillby did. Abruptly. Moving away on the ground until his back his another tree. Muffet quirked a brow at him, amused.

“What? Scared I’ll give you a girls disease?” She teased. “Don’t worry, kissing is safe.”  
Grillby was ignoring her. “ _Why did you do that?_ ” He demanded harshly, his reaction startling Muffet a bit.

“Jeesh, relax a little, sweetie,” she huffed out, sounding almost offended. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t want this either. It’s supposed to be, you know, we’re practically boy- and girlfriend. Or are there other people you spend your time with, _ever?_ ”

Grillby relaxed a little. He wasn’t happy, but he relaxed a little. She was right, wasn’t she?   
“Come on, what would be the problem?” She kept insisting. “We’ll just have more fun once we’re actually together. Or do you rather want me to _leave?_ ”  
And for some odd, odd reason, Grillby agreed to dating her.

Maybe it was the reason that he had no one else. Maybe it was because he was more scared of losing her, of losing that one only person he _had_ , than he had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at least i finally got my switch to hook up my nintendo switch to my pc screen so i can play splatoon 2 on it, that almost makes up for the awful smartphone experience


	5. Sometimes things that are expensive… are worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **nsfw content warning**
> 
> OOF

There had been an accident.

At least that’s what Grillby’s parents tried to tell him.

At one point they just seemed to... stop caring Grillby wasn't going to school anymore. And at first Grillby thought it was an improvement. It should be, right? His father wasn't yelling at him anymore every chance he got, his mother stopped beating him as much.

But somehow it... wasn't.

Grillby was used to the yelling, was used to the beating. It wasn't nice. It wasn't good. God damn, he hated every fucking second of it. Every word his parents threw at him. Every punch that followed them. He hated them with all his might.

They made him feel unsafe and scared, made him feel like scum. They took the only safe place from him, which would've been home, by making it the probably worst place for him to possibly be.

And now it _stopped_. They _stopped_ yelling at him, _stopped_ hitting him. So why wasn't he happy? Why wasn't he feeling better? Why was he feeling _worse_ instead?

Because now they were ignoring him.

He didn't know when he realized it. It wasn't something obvious, like in kindergarten when you have a fight with your friend and they try to talk to you, you just don't reply, look away, making a show out of not paying attention to them.

 _They_ were subtle. They were pretending to be busy. Pretending they couldn't be giving him as much attention at the moment. They didn't even _try_ to think of excuses when they locked Grillby out or in, simply saying they forgot. Didn't respond when Grillby tried to explain himself on something, simply made a small, uncaring noise.

That's what it was. They didn't _care_.

If Grillby were to die right now, were to never come home again, would they _then_ care? Would they _notice_?

He felt like no, they wouldn't. But he _tried_ to tell himself they would. They're his parents, they had to care at least _some_ bit, right?

But if they did, why did they seem so eager on hurting him?

Flare dropped a pot of cooking water.

She _said_ it was an accident, but the way it happened _right_ when she had turned into Grillby's direction, the way she insisted to Flint to _not_ call an ambulance when Grillby was on the ground, curled up on himself in pain as the majority of the water had hit him on the chest and his arms, the way she told Grillby to stop whining and dry himself up, or it'd just get worse. It gave him the odd feeling it wasn't an accident.

But what about it? It wasn't like Grillby could go to anyone about it. Who would believe them? Barely anyone would even be able to see the damage on his flames, they'd just think he might be maybe a bit sickish. There could be a lot of reasons for him to be sick. Didn't have to mean his mother had dumped a pot of water on him.

The next day Grillby couldn't move. He had tried to, had tried to get out of his bed to get out of this house. But his chest hurt with every movement, with every breath he tried to take. His arms would give out underneath him if he tried to lift himself off the mattress.

His mother had come in at one point, asking why he wasn't even trying to _act_ like he was going to school anymore. And he told her. He actually told her it was because of _her_. Because he was _hurt_ and needed medical assistance but _she_ refused it to him.

Flare just scoffed. Left the room. Didn't come back.

She didn't care.

His father did a little maybe. Flint came in a few hours later, giving Grillby some medicine to help his magic recover the damage. He tried to excuse his wife. Tried to explain Grillby that it was just an accident, and they couldn't afford paying a doctor for an accident right now.

"I think you just can't afford paying a doctor for me..." Grillby commented, his voice low and quiet. But Flint had heard. And his eyes had widened in a kind of shock that was mixed with guilt. Like it was true and he _knew_ it was true.

But then he just got angry about it. About Grillby having the gall to accuse them of something like that. He should be _grateful._ Grateful for their tolerance. For being able to still live here, despite his uselessness.

He left angry, not even finishing to give Grillby his medicine.

No one came into his room for the rest of the day.

 

When Grillby could move again the next day, he left the house. He didn't even pretend to be going to school, didn't bring his bag or anything. He just put on some clothes and _left_ , not knowing when he would get back. He just wanted out of there. Out of this house. Out of this family. Away from his parents.

He was _scared_. Scared of living alone, scared of not having a roof over his head. But he was also scared of his parents. Would they even hesitate anymore to just kill him if he became enough of a nuisance?

Maybe. Maybe not.

"What's the matter, sweetie?" Muffet asked once she found Grillby. She always seemed to find him somehow. Grillby never decided to question it, because essentially he didn't care. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it wasn't. But she never harmed him, so it didn't have to be a bad thing.

Grillby didn't answer. Didn't want to tell her his mother attacked him. Didn't want to tell her she refused to let him go to a hospital. But he lifted his shirt a little, showing the spot on his chest and stomach that was still weakened from the water.

Muffet ogled it a bit confused, poking it once with a finger until Grillby hissed in pain and she quickly pulled back again. "...Are you hurt?" The flame gave a nod. "You know, no one's at home right now. We don't have to hang out outside all the time."

That surprised Grillby a little. Muffet had never invited him to her home before. Neither had Grillby, but that was because _he_ didn't know when his parents would be out, and Flint and Flare meeting Muffet was the last thing he wanted.

He agreed, though. Agreed to go with Muffet. It looked like it was going to rain soon, and he didn't want to be in that today. He was exhausted and in pain and needed a break.

Muffet's home was... friendly. Inviting. It wasn't quite as big as Grillby's, but therefore all the more homey. He didn't entirely understand why she wouldn't want him there before. Or maybe it just hadn't come up. Maybe she didn't mind him here at all.

"Do you drink?" She asked as she left Grillby on the couch in her living room, heading for the kitchen. Grillby looked after her a bit confused. "Like... water? Soda?"

Ah, because he was an elemental. Well, he _could_ drink liquids. If they didn't touch his flames and instead would be ingested they'd be processed like foods, though still a little harder on him. And Grillby wasn't sure if he could handle that right now. So he shook his head, Muffet nodding as she disappeared into the kitchen.

She came back with some snacks, lemonade for herself.

She didn't say anything when she sat down next to Grillby, turning on the TV and zapping through the channels wordlessly. But she leaned against him from the side comfortably, so Grillby didn't feel... ignored. The way his parents liked to make him feel.

So he figured they were watching TV now.

Grillby didn't care too much for TV himself. He watched it sometimes, but not enough to be able to tell you a show or channel he liked especially. He didn't have a TV in his room, and his parents usually were in the living room where they had one.

So he let Muffet choose the channel, the elemental staying silent throughout. They watched some different shows, some celebrity cooks, an episode or two of some crude cartoons. It wasn't until they were watching some kind of reality show that Grillby decided that was really just a bad show. But Muffet didn't seem too interested in it either, she just kept complaining there was nothing _else_ on. Until she finally turned the TV off and got up.

"Wanna go to my room?" She asked, and Grillby got up with a nod, following her.

Her room was a lot bigger than Grillby's was. There was a twin-sized purple bed, some shelves with books and knick-knack on it. There was a small mirror and a desk with a computer.

Her room was oddly comfortable. Definitely not something Grillby would decorate his own room like, but it was comfortable. It looked like someone _lived_ here.

Grillby's own room always more felt like... like he _hid_ there rather than lived. And he felt like that's what it looked like, too. He couldn't quite explain why. Maybe because he was imagining it. But that's just what it felt like to him.

"Come on, get on the bed, silly," Muffet said, chuckling a little as she watched Grillby stand sort of lost by the entrance to her room, glancing around. She was already on said bed, petting the spot next to her, inviting Grillby in.

There was something odd about it, something that made Grillby feel not comfortable with this. But he obliged, sitting down onto the purple satin bed, before pulling his legs up and scooting over to where Muffet wanted him.

He realized now, now that he was sitting, why he was so uncomfortable with it. The bed looked so perfect. A perfectly made bed, smooth and clean. Expensive satin linen that shone slightly in the lights. He felt like it wasn't made to be sat on. Like it was made for something much more important, or maybe just for show.

It didn't feel as iniviting and soft as it looked. It felt sort of... fake. It was meant to look like a bed, but that's all it did. Look like it. Meant for showing off, for looking pretty. Like a statement of richness or power. Something that everyone could tell cost a lot, but essentially wasn't any good to use. Because sometimes things that are expensive, are worse.

Was Muffet rich? Grillby didn't know. He didn't feel like asking either.

He didn't know what exactly she had planned when she had invited him here, but before Grillby could tell, Muffet was already over him. She had her elbows left and right to Grillby's chest, face resting on her hands as she peeked down at him with a saccharine smile.

"You like me, Grillby Baby, don't you?" She asked, her smile suddenly turning into something that could almost be a pout.

Grillby nodded at her without hesitation, but did he really? Did he like Muffet, or just tolerate her? Did he want to date her, or was he just going along? Would he be sad if they broke up?

Yes, Grillby realized. He was scared of losing Muffet, was scared of losing the only one he could be close to.

"Then why do you never talk to me, sweetie?" She asked now, using one hand to circle a finger over Grillby's chest, slowly, carefully. "Who hurt you?"

This time Grillby hesitated.

If he told her, she would judge him. If he told her, she would ask what he did to make his parents do this. If he told her, she would think he was unruly. A brat. Disrespectful.

...No. No, she wouldn't.

Muffet said it herself, she doesn't like her own parents. She doesn't think Grillby is special for not liking his.

But then what _would_ she think? What _would_ she think of Grillby, of his situation, if he were to tell her? He suddenly found he couldn't read her. Couldn't figure her out at all. And it scared him, the uncertainty.

But he swallowed. He wanted to find out.

"...My mother," was what Grillby finally said. "Dropped a pot of water at me. Didn't let me go to the hospital."

Muffets eyes widened a little, but not remarkably so. "Damn," she said, sounding a bit like she was surprised, a bit like she was impressed. "That's... bad. I'm sorry to hear so."

Grillby sighed. He nodded. He didn't know what else to say. Thank you? Maybe. Maybe he should have. But by the time he thought about it it was already too late.

Muffet was leaning into him some more, face close to his as her sorry expression turned into something else, something Grillby didn't know very well. Her smile was soft, her eyes half-lidded, there was a slight tinge of a darker hue on her face.

"Want me to make you feel better?" She cooed. But she didn't wait for an answer. She leaned into Grillby, their mouths meeting in a kiss. Her tongue quickly invaded Grillby's mouth, exploring it, tasting it while Grillby let her. He put his arms around her, one on her neck, the other on the back of her head, light and hesitant, like he was scared of taking control in this situation.

It wasn't until a minute later that Muffet pulled back, her brows cocked as she looked at Grillby with a lopsided smile. "Come on, sweetie, I know you can do better," she sing sang. "You _can_ kiss me back, you know. Put a bit of force in it." She cackled after that, sweetly and sassy, and Grillby decided, still hesitantly, to lean in a bit, to deepen the kiss.

It didn’t take long for Muffet to be letting out small noises. Something that Grillby figured were probably moans, small squeals, excited giggles and mewls. Despite telling Grillby to ‘put some force into it’ she was still taking most of the control. Most of the lead.

She took Grillby’s wrist into her hand, leading his palm to her still clothed breast, letting him feel.

“I can take my clothes off, if you want,” she hummed, her voice soft, almost a whisper. A coo. Traveling over nothing but the soft air current of her breath. Grillby nodded in reply, the movements stocky and unsure.

He didn’t entirely know what he was doing. _Of course_ he knew what was going on. What was happening. He just didn’t quite understand why. How it was supposed to work. How he was supposed to act.  
So he just went along, trusting that Muffet knew well enough for both of them.

She took off her little vest first, the shirt underneath, but kept on her pants and bra. Her eyes were a bit more beady when she looked up at Grillby, hopeful and expectant, but… Grillby did not know what she was expecting. Grillby is dense as a brick.

She sighed after a little while of no response, but didn’t say anything to it either, instead just giving Grillby a toothy grin, showing her fangs. “Come on, pretty boy. Your turn!” She cackled a bit until Grillby obliged, peeling off the shirt of himself, leaving his chest bare as well.

He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that. Leaving himself bare, especially right after having gotten hurt. But… Muffet had done the same for him. And as she ran her hands over Grillby, she was gentle, making sure to avoid the hurt parts.

It didn’t take long for her to rid of both their pants. Grillby’s first, and she took his dick in her many small hands with curiosity and determination in her eyes.

The touch surprised Grillby, the elemental letting out small gasps. In retrospect Grillby could say that it took Muffet a little while to get him really hard and ready. It wasn’t like he wasn’t feeling it. He was definitely feeling _something._ Just… that something was a lot more fear and nervousness about what’s about to happen then… well, what he _should_ be feeling.

But she _did_ get Grillby hard enough _eventually_ giving the elemental an excited grin, some playful words, before she pulled down her own pants.

They didn’t prepare _her,_ didn’t help her stretch a little or get her wet, didn’t even use any lube. Grillby was inexperienced, he didn’t _realize_ it was something that’d be necessary. And Muffet, well… maybe she didn’t know either. Or maybe she thought she was ready enough.  
Either way, she was not.

When Grillby pushed in, slowly and carefully, it felt tight and dry, not exactly too pleasurable, and Muffet even winced a little, letting out the smallest, pained noises. But she wouldn’t let Grillby stop, assuring him she was fine whenever he did to ask if she was hurt.

“It’s supposed to hurt during the first time,” she told him confidently. “It’s normal, don’t worry.”

Why were they doing this?  
By the time Grillby came he was exhausted and sore, not sure if he had just had the best or worst time of his life. He wasn’t even sure if Muffet came at all, but she had been riding him, and she stopped once she felt the elemental fill her up, pulling out and watching the seed drizzle out of her with an odd excitement.

Was she really enjoying it? Despite how clumsy it had been, how dry and painful? Was she really enjoying herself, or was she just acting?  
Or was she maybe simply enjoying having done it at all, rather than actually doing it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a really hard time writing this chapter bc... well... i didnt exactly wanna write them sex, because theyre super young and also its mostly supposed to be an eh to unpleasant experience. i HAD to add it though because i WANTED people to know about the inexperience, the unpleasant and eh part about it, how they still did it  
> i tried to actually focus on that rather than the actual sexing and?? i HOPE i did well


	6. Mutual Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup fellas  
> sooo i still have like one or two chapters for this fic and one or two for the other i think? and while posting these, im definitely gonna take a break y'all  
> i dont know if its actually gonna cause a stop in my update schedule or not, but either way i wanted to let y'all know  
> drawing the grillby fic&the sequel has been a huge chore for me lately. i know some of y'all are still reading and enjoying them, but i get so little attention lately i feel a little unappreciated, which isnt an issue REALLY, but it doesnt make writing them easier for me right now  
> so yea  
> im taking a break, hoping i'll get into them again after that
> 
> i hope y'all still enjoy!

It became a pattern.

More and more often would Grillby go with Muffet to her place. They would relax a bit, on her bed or the couch, watching TV or sometimes Muffet telling Grillby about something. But it would always end in either them making out or even sex.

She was pretty dominant, easily taking up the responsibility to guide Grillby, lead him along, tell him what to do, where to touch her. But that didn't mean she didn't want him to take charge every once in a while, too.

Sex was... something. Sometimes it was a chore to Grillby. It was exhausting and hard. It was something that left him feeling odd, violated sometimes, even though he completely agreed to it, and sometimes left him unable to sleep, wishing it hadn't happened.

But sometimes it was also good. Muffet wasn't the _only_ one initiating it, after all. Sometimes sex was a good way to build off some stress, to let out some steam.

It was easy during those times to take charge. To get himself ready to have sex with her. Because seeing her naked never was quite enough for him to get hard, getting touched sometimes did the job, but even then Grillby just didn't seem to be always doing too well.

But those times he had too much energy, those days he had already spent beating a tree until the bark tore, and he was more than ready finishing those days off by leaving his girlfriend well fucked and satisfied. _Those_ days were some of the better ones. Some of the good ones.

And then there was this day. This day where Grillby hadn't _exactly_ been wanting to have sex, but he didn't mind either. And his mouth was on Muffets as he thrusted into her in a fast but steady pace.

And then they heard a door closing. It wasn't hard to tell it was the entrance door, the echo of the hallway making that one recognizable. But what was surprising was the way Muffet quickly pushed Grillby off of her and out of her, the elemental roughly falling with his back to the ground.

"Muffet?" A voice rang from a different room, it sounded female and slightly elderly, so Grillby figured it'd be her mother.

"Leave me _alone_ , mom!" Muffet called back immediately, while she quickly put on some close. She glared at Grillby. "Hide!" She hissed, the elemental getting up surprised.

"...What?"

" _Hide_!" She repeated more urgently now, grabbing Grillby by the shoulders and leading him to a closet. She opened it, tossing the elemental in quickly, before closing it shut again. "And be quiet!"

He didn't know what was going on. He didn't know why he was hiding. Was he not allowed to be here? Was Muffet going to get in trouble? He didn't even get the chance to put on his clothes again, what if she would get hurt!

Her mother came in a bit later, having given Muffet just enough time to get dressed. But she still glared at her mother like she just ruined everything for her, her gaze almost venomous.

"What do you _want_!?" She hissed aggressively.

"Sweetie, there's no need for that attitude!" Her mother chided, her voice sounding sweetly, but not soft. Thick like honey, but having a sharp hint to it.

"You're not even supposed to be here," Muffet said back, like it was an argument for her attitude. "What are you doing here?"

"Your sister got into trouble in school so I had to leave work early to pick her up."

"Margaret, you're _dead_!" Muffet bellowed loudly, obviously past her mother and through the next rooms where her sister – Margaret? – had to be somewhere. Grillby could hear a screech in response and the sound of someone running away. As well as the aghast gasp of her mother.

"Muffet behave yourself!" She told her angrily. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"Aren't _you_ supposed to be off my case?" The younger monster argued. "Relax. I wasn't feeling so well today, I decided to stay home."

Her mother didn't seem very happy with the answer, her many eyes narrowing mistrustfully and Grillby tensed anxiously. Was she going to yell? To hit her? What would he do if she _did_? Should he ruin his cover and get out to defend Muffet?

But... eventually she sighed.

"Do you need anything, sweetie? We still have some tea," she said, much to Grillby's surprise. “How are you feeling now?”

"I'm _fine_ , mom, just leave!"

"Okay, okay!" Muffet's mother said, backing off slowly towards the exit of the room. "But call your classmates for homework later, oka-"

" _Leave_!" Muffet snapped, before slamming the door shut once her mother was out of the room.

She waited a few moments. A few, quiet moments in which Grillby didn't move either, until both of them heard her mother walk away and say something to Muffet's sister. Finally the spider monster sighed.

"You can come out now," she said quieter. Grillby finally got out of the closet, but not as gay yet, starting to collect his clothes from under the bed where Muffet had quickly hidden them.

"Ugh, my mom can be so annoying sometimes," Muffet complained, and Grillby decided to stay quiet. She obviously seemed to not like her. He didn't understand why. She seemed to have been wanting to help. Had she known Grillby was here and was pretending? Was it all just some kind of play, fake? Or was she just sometimes this nice?

"You'll have to leave," Muffet said as soon as Grillby finished putting on his clothes. She was already opening her window, her and Grillby both glancing down a little. It wasn't _too_ high, but Grillby would still have to make a little jump.

"And be quiet while you do."

The elemental looked at her befuddled.

"...Why?" He asked. He still didn't quite understand why he had had to hide, either, was he not allowed to be here?

"I don't want mom to see you," Muffet explained, but Grillby still didn't really understand. "Just _leave_ , alright!?" She hissed, though, so the elemental decided not to argue. He put his hands on the window frame, climbing out carefully. He didn't say his goodbye to Muffet and neither did she, simply closing the window as soon as Grillby was out of it, hanging on the wall a little. Until he let go, landing roughly on his feet. Oof. That hurt.

But he had made it down, and it didn't sound like anyone was coming after him, like anyone had noticed him. So he quickly left, trying to get out of view as fast as possible in case anyone were to chase him after all.

But no one ever came. Not Muffet, not her mother or anyone else.

Grillby only stopped his speed walking until he had reached his own little forest camp. He hadn't been here very often since Muffet, them usually meeting almost every day. But he's still came here every once in a while, especially when he felt like beating someone, beating his parents for beating _him_.

Today oddly... was one of those days. It hadn't been before. He had been feeling alright before. But since he got shoved into the closet and had to watch the exchange, since he got kicked out and had to climb out of the window... He's been feeling more and more frustrated.

He hadn't even noticed at first. He was just confused at first. Why was Muffet so insistent of her mother not seeing Grillby? Why was she so aggressive to her when her mother seemed so sweet? Why was she so aggressive to her sister?

He _wanted_ to think maybe he's just seeing it all from the wrong angle, maybe he's missing parts, maybe he doesn't know what's going on.

But he couldn't help but to feel... betrayed? Envious? Muffets mother seemed so much better than his own. Seemed caring and sweet. Strict, yes, but that was okay, she was her _mother_ , not her classmate pal.

Yet Muffet seemed so unappreciative. Seemed so disrespectful. Seemed so rude. And she had gotten Grillby's trust making him think she had abusive parents as well.

Not that he _wanted_ her to be in his situation, but did she have _any_ idea what he was going through? Probably not. Did she care? Definitely not.

Grillby cried out as he punched the closest tree, the charred bark smoking a little from Grillby's fire.

He was misunderstanding this, right? He _wanted_ to be misunderstanding this, but believing it was... hard. Not when Muffet's mother had been so friendly. Would she even have been angry if she saw her with Grillby? Maybe, if he had still been nude, because she was skipping school and having sex with someone, but... He would've had enough time to get dressed. They could've come up with an excuse. Her mother didn't seem like the type that wouldn't accept any excuses.

Grillby stayed in the forest for a few hours. He had nowhere else to go. Had nowhere else to be. He texted Muffet at one point, asking if everything was alright, but she didn't answer until Grillby was already on his way back, leaving the forest looking like a battle field, his fists sore and pounding slightly in pain.  


 

Muffet:

Im fine, relax

I just dont want my parents to know about you?

 

Grillby texted back almost immediately, asking why she wouldn't want that, but Muffet never answered. He didn't keep poking on it, and instead just decided to pocket his phone again for the rest of his way home. And the next half an hour he spent outside.

Because the door was locked and no one was answering it. It wasn't entirely new, getting locked out or forgotten like that by his parents, but it still sort of stung. He was sitting by the doorstep waiting for them or someone to come or _something_ to happen, knowing that once he'd come face-to-face with his parents again, he'd be dead-meat for whatever reason.

And he did. When they finally came home, looking uncaring of anything around them until Flare finally stopped, spotting Grillby at on the ground, the younger monster quickly getting up.

"Oh. You decided to show up after all," she said somewhat passive aggressively. She knew exactly Grillby would've shown up sooner or later, he _always_ did, but like hell was she going to admit she was just pretending to be forgetting him to get Grillby going through hell and back.

"Well get inside then and make yourself _somewhat_ useful," she went on. "There's chores you had to do today that still aren't done."

Because he literally couldn't have gotten inside, because they left him locked out and refused to give Grillby a key saying he was too young, too irresponsible. He kept quiet. Frustrated, but quiet as he waited for his father to unlock the door and he went in after his mother, already getting ready to do his chores. Because that's what kept him alive. Just going along with what they say. Just doing what they tell him he's supposed to, and he'll get through somewhat fine.

Except there were those days where he didn't. Those days where they didn't _care_ what Grillby did, or where they cared too much, and every one of his moves was wrong.

Flint was complaining about how long he took doing the dishes, how much water he was wasting thanks to that. Grillby didn't know _how_ he was supposed to do it faster, he was pretty sure neither of them did it faster either, but he kept quiet.

But he didn't go _faster_ either. So when Flare came into the kitchen, Flint looked towards his wife, face in an annoyed frown.

"He's being too slow," he complained to her, like she could do anything about that. "He's wasting too much water!"

Flare took a brief moment to observe what this was about, before she glared at Grillby, the glare burning into the young elemental’s back. "What are you doing?" She hissed, like whatever Grillby had 'done' had hurt her personally. "You're doing it wrong. We can't afford wasting more water than we would with a dishwasher, just because you feel like slacking."

"I'm not _slacking_ ," Grillby snapped back before he could stop himself. Flare raised a brow at him.

"Well then, what exactly are you doing, Grillbert?" She asked, her tone challenging, as if Grillby had absolutely no way out of the situation. Like he was a mouse trapped inside the coil of a snake.

"I'm doing the dishes," Grillby responded, but his own voice didn't hold anything. Flare was right to believe Grillby had no power. He was nothing but a mouse, even if he was in the right, he didn't have the power to put himself through. Not against the massive strength of a snake.

"Well, you're being too slow. You're the opposite of useful like _this_ ," his mother complained. "Just let me do it." And she reached out for Grillby, was trying to grab him by the shoulder or arm and pull him away, but Grillby quickly placed down the plate, before he slapped away Flare's hand.

He didn't want her to touch him. Not right now. Not ever. Even if it was something as mundane as pulling him by the shoulders. He didn't want it. He hated it. He hated it so badly.

His mother looked at Grillby with big, shocked eyes, quickly turning furious.

“Grillby! Pay your mother some damn respect!” Flint roared furiously as soon as he noticed what was going on.

“How dare you treat me like this?” Flare hissed at her son alongside Flint. “I am your mother! I have raised you, have let you live under my roof!”

“I just don’t want to be touched,” Grillby replied, his voice low. He wanted to say it was control, but that would be a lie. It was fear that let him ‘control’ himself, fear made him hold back his anger.

“Oh, so you want an extra treatment?” His mother spoke, every word laced with anger, toxic and biting, trying to make Grillby look as bad as he possibly could look. “And you think you can just slap your parents because we’re not following your special little orders?”  
“I didn’t-!” Grillby stopped, his brows furrowed in a frown, his fists clenched.

He _hated_ her. That was his mother, the woman that raised him, had fed him, had given him a home. Yet he couldn’t help himself but to _hate_ her. So deeply, so furiously, like she was the devil herself.

“Go to your room and do _not_ leave until we tell you so,” Flare finally decided, and she reached for Grillby again, reached to pull him by his shoulders _again._ Why? As a play of dominance? To show she could do whatever she wanted with Grillby, because she had power over him, she was older and bigger and stronger.

Except she wasn’t. And she didn’t have any more power than Grillby gave her. So he roughly slapped her arm away again.

There was a moment, this small moment where neither of them seemed to quite process what had just happened. Where Flare glared at Grillby like he had just broken her whole world, where Flint looked like his son has just betrayed their whole family line.

“How _dare_ you, you little-” She went to grab Grillby by the collar, he _knew._ He’s seen her like that, when she got really furious, when she would hit and beat him. And he _wanted_ to stop her. He knew he could. But the fact itself, the knowledge she was coming to _hit_ him, it was terrifying, paralyzing and he didn’t move. Didn’t move as she threw her palm into his face. As she dropped him roughly into the ground.

Only when she was about to leave him lying there like this did Grillby finally manage to collect himself together enough to _react._

And he kicked.  
He was still lying on the floor, but he kicked out his legs so he hit his mother by the ankles. She fell over with a surprised scream, and Flint immediately got up to run towards his wife, to help her up, and a small part of Grillby wanted to get up too. Wanted to get to her before him. Wanted to _punch_ her, in the gut or in the face.

But he didn’t. He sat up on the floor and stayed there, eyes digging into his father as he watched him pick up Flare, help her walk like she was mortally wounded. They both threw Grillby a look. A glare. Of disappointment, anger. Of disgust, rage.

He didn’t care. They hated him? Well, at least the feeling was mutual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops


	7. Why do Umbrellas literally cost from $0.99 to $69.00

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUP  
> i had to update this one two consecutive weeks bc i apparently did that too with the last one before without noticing??  
> WELP  
> hope you'll like it!

When people tell you life goes on, they mostly mean it to cheer you up. To tell you to let go of bad things, let them pass with time. Life goes on. Things change. Move on.

But sometimes when life went on, it went on bad.

His parents haven't let go of what happened, treating Grillby colder than ever. They acted like he was some kind of criminal, someone who was endangering them. Who would snap any moment and attack them, causing actual danger.

And sometimes Grillby did. Sometimes he _did_ attack. Not for no damn reason, of course, but it still was something he _did_. When his mom hit him or was about to, he would fight back. He would defend himself. He would block her off, hell, sometimes he would even threaten her.

Grillby had reached a point in his life where he for the first time realized he wasn't _weak_. He was strong, quick, had good reflexes. He could defend himself, fight for himself, try the same damn spiel with his mother that she had tried with him.

But there were just some things that, even if he was strong, Grillby simply couldn't fight.

Whenever they ignored him, whenever they treated him like he was their family's worst enemy. They called him a disgrace, an embarrassment for their family line. Called him a bother, a nuisance, a waste of space, money, time.

They treated him like he's _robbed_ them their years they had to raise him, like it was Grillby's fault he was born.

And he hated it. He hated his life. He hated _them_. And sometimes, sometimes when he was alone in the forest, he hated himself.

Why?

Why did this kind of thing have to happen to _him_ out of everyone else? Was it really Grillby who was wrong? Who was misbehaving so badly, misunderstanding and mistreating his parents, who had only tried their best for him.

Or was Grillby just really damn unlucky. Like the universe decided to fuck up him in particular, making his parents the dickwads that they were.

This was one of the worse things for Grillby to deal with. The beating he could suck up, could defend himself. He even grew used to being treated like the scum on earth.

But the hatred? The frustration, the confusion and sadness... It was what would end up keeping Grillby awake at night. Would end up giving him sleepless nights, stress nightmares, would end up in Grillby just wanting to be alone for the rest of his life, avoiding anyone. Even his girlfriend, Muffet.

There was another thing Grillby couldn't fight, though. One big, very scary thing that would affect his life forever.

It happened one time he got home, his parents already waiting for him in the kitchen. Grillby ignored them, frankly not realizing they were _waiting_ for him, but it wasn't like he would've cared anyway.

"Grillby, we need to talk," Flint's voice barreled through the hallway, though, causing the younger elemental to freeze up, before finally going back into the kitchen.

He didn't say anything. Didn't ask what they want to talk about, what he did wrong this time. He simply stood there by the entrance, glaring up at his two parents as they were glaring down at him. If they wanted to talk, they would. They didn't need Grillby's assistance to do so.

"Your teacher called," Flint said. "If you're not going to fix your attendance and come up with a damn good excuse, you're going to get kicked out of the school."

Grillby thought so already. He was surprised Flint and Flare hadn't figured out as much _sooner_ , or at least hadn't brought it up. But he decided a while ago already that he didn't _care_ anymore.

"Doesn't matter," he told them, voice clipped and curt. "Dropping out anyway."

"You're _not_ dropping out, Grillbert!" Flare hissed at him, her flames growing in anger, like the idea insulted her personally. "You're going to fix this, _right_ now! And if it doesn't work out, you will find a new school to enroll in!"

"I won't," Grillby argued, though, his tone keeping no room for discussion. Both his parents eyes widened at his boldness.

"You're being irrational," Flint tried. "Grillby, school is important."

But Flare very apparently already decided to take on a different route, completely ignoring her husband as she roared down at her son.

"If you're not willing to do _anything_ for your life or future, we won't either. I will not house a freeloader not even willing to attend to school."

He should’ve known. He _had_ known, had been expecting it, but… it still came as a shock to Grillby, the young elemental’s eyes wide in fear.

“...You’re kicking me out.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Grillby! We’re- ...We’re _not_ ,” Flint stammered despite his wife, tone a bit frantic. “Just go back to school. Enroll into a different one. We don’t _want_ to kick you out...”  
“But you are,” Grillby argued. “If I pull through what I really want to do.”  
“What you’re _doing_ is a mistake!” Flare hissed, and Grillby glared up at her, eyes hard and cold.

“Well, guess I am then. I’m not changing my mind.”   
Flare held her son’s glare, almost equally as cold, except even more. Icy and stone hearted.  
“Fine then,” she replied, her tone dismissive, but there was still a strong, strong hint of annoyance in her voice. “You can pack your things then. I expect you to be gone by midday tomorrow.”

 

There was a part of Grillby that was still clinging to the idea that this wasn’t really happening. That any time Flare or Flint would come into his room any moment, telling him he should unpack again, that they weren’t going to kick him out. That they were wrong. That they were sorry.

Grillby couldn’t live on his own. He’s never lived on his own. He was barely fourteen! Where was he live? What would he eat? How was he going to _survive?_

He didn’t even know what to pack. There was no way he could take everything, he only had one suitcase and a backpack and he had to fit into that everything he’ll have when he leaves. There were a few changes of clothes, some food he snatched from the kitchen while no one was looking, as well as some bottles of water.

He packed his phone and charger, a switchblade and one book. Most of the… rest could stay here, he decided. It ended up being much more little than Grillby had first expected, which just came to realize how little Grillby did own himself. His room only ever had the necessary.

Grillby didn’t want to leave. He… wanted to be _gone._ Away from his parents. But he didn’t want to leave his _home,_ didn’t want to leave his only place to sleep at, his roof over his head, even _if_ it wasn’t exactly his safe place.

But he had made a decision. And Flare had made her decision. And Grillby was heading to the exit already the same day, only stopping when Flint put himself in his way.

“Grillby...” He said, his tone regretful and worried. “You don’t have to do this. We can help you find a new school. Just… work on your attendance.”  
For what? For Grillby to keep spending his years stressing and studying and eventually just failing anyways? To stay in this house filled with toxic people that only wanted to keep Grillby as their punching bag? Their scapegoat?  
“No thanks,” Grillby said bitterly, before finally pushing past his father and just… leaving.

He didn’t have a key to leave behind. No one followed him. He walked without looking back, walking away from this cursed place without stopping, scared that if he did, he’d back down. But he didn’t. He never did. He only stopped once he reached his own secret little forest camp, getting out his phone to text the only person he could think of helping him.

 

Grillby:

I need your help

It is urgent

 

He watched his phone screen focused for a while, for some odd reason expecting Muffet to answer immediately or at least quickly. But she didn't. Not after a minute. Or two. Or three. After five minutes Grillby gave it up, pocketing his phone again, realizing she was probably busy or didn't have her phone at hand.

He threw his fist against the closest tree, letting out a frustrated cry. The tree's bark singed under his fist, and Grillby had to actively fight letting it catch on fire.

He was out. Out of this house. Away from his parents. He should be happy, happy that he was free. Happy that they weren't going to breathe on his neck anymore. Weren't going to insult him, going to make him feel like a nuisance. Like _their_ curse.

But he... He oddly didn't. He couldn't find himself celebrating, when being rid of his parents meant he had nowhere to _stay_. Nowhere to sleep. He was out in the open with no home, no plan, no future.

His only hope was Muffet who wasn't answering.

She would, Grillby tried to remind himself. She would sooner or later. For now he just had to wait. Find some kind of shelter, because it looked like it was going to rain soon and he cursed now not having thought of bringing an umbrella. How could he have forgotten something _this_ essential?

So Grillby hurried out of the forest, slowed down by his suitcase and bag. He _had_ thought of bringing all the money he had. Not that it was a lot, but he had saved all the money he got in various ways, and over the years roughly came to $150. It should be enough for an umbrella, and an umbrella was top priority right now.

 

By the time Grillby made it to the closest store, the rain had already hit Grillby. He managed to evade it most of the time by staying underneath trees or close to buildings, but it still hit him every once in a while.

But he made it to the store, which was what was important. And they had umbrellas there for $1.99. He got one in a simple black color, before leaving the store again, this time with a bit more safety from the water. Which still didn't mean he wanted to stay in the rain too long.

The library was always there for him, though. He hadn't had wanted to stay in the store after paying, worried they might throw him out for wasting their space. But the library never charged money from him, never kicked him out so long he stayed decent and didn't stay after closing time.

They didn't even know Grillby was homeless when he arrived there this time. Not that anyone did besides him and his parents. But it still felt odd, carrying this kind of secret, the fact being so, so oppressively present in your own mind, while no one else even takes notice of it.

Like back then, when he would still go to school after getting beaten by his parents. No one even knew he was hurt, damaged, hit, making it feel like... no one _cared_.

The lady behind the counter greeted Grillby friendly, a monster who's body seemed to be an ever changing shape of plasma. Grillby greeted her back, but decided to leave the entrance area as quick as possible, disappearing behind the shelves with his suitcase in his hand.

Maybe they _did_ know. The luggage should be kind of a giveaway, he wouldn't be in a _library_ if he were about to _travel_ anywhere. Plus, Grillby figured, if there was any way homeless people would look for shelter it was probably the library...

So now he felt like he was hiding. From whom? The public eye? People to judge him? He shouldn't care about what those strangers thought. They didn't matter. No one did but Muffet now. He lost his parents, had lost connection to his 'friends' a while ago, and was probably going to get kicked off of school any day now. Not that he would even notice. Or care.

Life was... going to shit, wasn't it? How was Grillby going to fix this up?

He didn't know. Neither did he want to worry about it right now. So instead he looked through some shelves about souls.

Soul and magic sciences, soul history, the biology of a soul... He's read most of those by now.

Even if he hasn't been in the library for a while, Muffet taking up most of his time, he's still read most of those books before. He ended up settling for a study about the different soul's colors and what kind of magic their owners would usually wield.

The souls owner doesn't necessarily wield magic of the same color as their soul, though there still seemed to be a correlation to _which_ magics they would wield. Green and cyan souls rarely possessed over offensive magic, sticking with defensive magics like blue, green or purple magic, as well as healing magic. Orange and yellow souls seemed to be those who will most likely have the offensive magic, often also be found stronger than in other monster's. Fire magic, like Grillby had himself, but often also orange or cyan magic.

Purple and Blue seemed to be kind of a grey-area. They were often found wielding either type of magic, sometimes even yellow magic, and not rarely even their own type of magic, this far undocumented by anyone else. Purple and Blue souled people often had the most trouble figuring their own magic out, them being pretty much a wild card.

Red souls, though, were even odder. There weren't a lot of monsters carrying red souls, most red souls belonged to humans. Though _when_ there was a case of a monster carrying a soul of this color, they were usually found not being able to use magic at all. It was, to many magic biologists, considered a disability, though there had been protests of red souled monsters and their allies, arguing that they were not disabled at all. That their lack of magic did not make them any less able to do anything any other person could.

Maybe red souls would end up making it big in economy, according to the book, overcompensating for their lack of magic, trying to prove they could still be as good as anyone else. They would make up for their little magic abilities with physical strength or education.

Grillby couldn't read more into it, though this book hadn't been the best so far anyways. He could already feel his phone vibrating as he got a message, digging it out of his pockets hurriedly.

 

Muffet:

Meet me at our forest

20min

 

He didn't know if he could make it there within twenty minutes, but he had to try. He had to talk to Muffet.

Not wasting another moment, Grillby quickly put the book back into the shelf where he got it from, before hurrying out of the library. The library was located pretty much in the center of the town, while the forest Muffet had her little secret base at was kind of at the edge of it. So he'd need at _least_ fifteen minutes if he would hurry himself, and that was only to arrive at the forest, not even her base.

But Grillby did it, in the end. He was a bit later than exactly twenty minutes, it was harder to get through a forest when it was still wet from the rain. But Muffet didn't say anything about it, she was sitting in her hammock, already waiting for her boyfriend.

“We need to talk,” Grillby said without hesitation, the spider monster quirking a brow at him.

“Hello to you, too, Grillboy,” she sarcastically, hanging oh-so relaxed from her hammock, back arched as he lay on it with half her body past the fabric and hovering over the ground.

“This is important.”  
“Am I in trouble?” Muffet asked, and finally she seemed to actually take it serious, sitting up straight and looking up at the elemental with five narrowed eyes.

Grillby shook his head no, though, sort of expecting Muffet to relax or get curious. But instead she seemed more oddly annoyed, like she suddenly thought he was wasting her time.

“What is it then? Come on, cutie, spit it out,” she urged and, well. Grillby _had_ to spit it out one way or another.

“...Parents kicked me out,” he explained shortly, but clearly, and this time Muffet’s eyes widened.  
“Oh, Grillby…,” she whispered out, clearly shocked. “Where will you go? Do you have any relatives? Friends?”

The question struck Grillby as odd. He had a girlfriend. He had _her._ Why else would he come to _her_ about this, if not to ask to stay with her? He knew Muffet’s family had enough space for one more head, it shouldn’t be a problem.

He shook his head no at the spider’s question, before deciding to ask himself. “Can I stay… with you?”

If Grillby had thought Muffet’s eyes had widened before, he would be surprised now. Five big orbs blinking at him in shock, like they couldn’t quite believe the king of question Grillby was asking her.

“No,” she breathed out, shocked at first, before dissolving into a disbelieving laugh. “No, no, no, Grillby. You can’t move in with _me._ We’re too young! What would our parents think!”  
“My parents kicked me _out,_ ” Grillby argued, his voice urging and panicked and why was she _actually_ trying to argue _against_ it!?  
But Muffet’s answer obviously was absolute.

“No.” She said again, her tone final. “No, absolutely not.”


	8. This isn’t helping, Muffet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good News:  
> I updated again!
> 
> Bad News:  
> I'll be putting this fic on hiatus.  
> Let's say, for a month, so I'll try to update it on June 23rd, but I can't make any promises!
> 
> Instead I'll be focusing on Back When They Still Lived Underground. I hope this'll be good, because I'm having a very hard time with this fic right now!

“I have nowhere to go,” Grillby breathed out, his tone unbelieving and desperate. Muffet looked back at him, her eyes wide and scared. There was something about being _in_ a situation and _watching_ a situation that made such a big, big difference. As a spectator Muffet felt like she knew what was going on. She _saw_ the situation, _saw_ what was happening, could assess it clearer and easier than Grillby could.

And maybe she could. Maybe she saw things Grillby didn’t see, because Grillby was panicked and biased, scared and _angry._ But the thing was, it didn’t matter what Muffet _saw._ What she thought, what she did, because _she_ wasn’t the one who was homeless, kicked out by her parents without any support.

“You can still come over before my parents come home,” she offered.

“Where will I sleep?” Grillby urged. “I don’t have a dry place to- I will die, Muffet.”  
“You _won’t,_ ” she insisted, and her own voice sounded kind of desperate now. “If it’s really that bad you can just go back to your parents, right? They can’t let you _die._ ”  
They could, though. They could and they would but Grillby had already given up.

“You can’t _live_ with me, I can’t let my parents know of you.” Because for _some_ reason it was _so_ bad if they found out Muffet had a boyfriend. _So_ bad that it was better to let Grillby live on the streets.  
Or maybe she just preferred the mystery. The adventure of having to hide Grillby. Or having to hide their relationship. Who knew. Grillby kind of didn’t care anymore.

“I’m sorry, Grillby,” Muffet finally said. It sounded oddly sincere, but the elemental couldn’t really take it to heart. He shook his head, not saying a thing.

This was ridiculous.

But maybe she had a point. Maybe he couldn’t stay over with her. Maybe doing so would just make things worse for _her._

Muffet still ended up urging Grillby to come to her place at least for as long as her parents were gone for the day. It was wet in the forest, and he hadn’t eaten yet. Muffet didn’t have a lot to offer, but she had snacks, and that was at least enough for now for the elemental.

She was… still trying to help. Right now it was hard for Grillby to not be kind of bitter at her. At her not letting him stay. But it wasn’t Muffet’s fault he got kicked out, Grillby knew that. It wasn’t Muffet’s fault he was homeless. Muffet wasn’t the one that just had the power to decide who could stay over and who couldn’t, and Muffet couldn’t magically make Grillby find a home either.

He still wished she would let him sleep at her place, god damn, even _secretly_ if he had to. But he could tell she wasn’t trying to _sabotage_ him. She was still trying to help. In the little ways she could. And Grillby _had_ to appreciate that, because right now he _had_ no one else. Nothing else.

Though that still didn't change a lot about Grillby's situation. When Muffet's parents eventually came, he still had to sneak away. After he left the safety of her four walls, he was still homeless. When night eventually approached, he still didn't know where to spend it.

The library had to kick him out at one point, though they seemed to have an idea what was going on. They were looking apologetic, asking Grillby if he needed help. And Grillby said no, he didn't. Like a liar.

He didn't want to take the help of complete strangers. They weren't responsible for him. They didn't even know or care about him. They didn't know Grillby at all. For all they knew Grillby could just be some ungrateful monster that would exploit them for their kindness. They didn't deserve that and Grillby didn't somehow end up being like that. The way he tried to push Muffet, the way he was still kind of upset she didn't let him stay, that already scared him enough.

So he was left on his own. It wasn't raining, but it was still wet. There were a few public benches, though one or two of them already occupied by other monsters without a home. They wouldn't have done it for Grillby anyways. He needs some place with a roof, safe from the water.

He tried to think of public spaces that might offer something like that. The park also was wet all over, it's only roofed spaces being either roofed by trees, which would eventually let the rain water drip through its leaves, or the public bathroom, which Grillby found to be locked up by this hour.

He tried some other places, hopping from one to another, whichever had some kind of roofed outdoor terrace. But he's found every place either locked off through some fence, or was eventually sent away by someone working there, once they locked the place and left for the night.

It was only until every place had actually closed, a bit after midnight, that Grillby seemed to find a place. A smallish ice cream parlor with a few tables in front of the building. It was roofed for the most part, not entirely waterproof, but definitely better than trees.

The chairs weren't... comfortable, but really, Grillby didn't get to be picky right now. He found himself barely feeling cold, still wearing his jacket, and having his own flames to warm himself. The chair was fairly dry so he was content enough. He just worried about getting found in the morning.

Can they call the police on him for sleeping on their chairs through the night? Even when he was homeless? Or maybe especially when he was homeless?

Well, Grillby knew, for sure, he didn't want to find out. So he simply had to get away before he _would_ find out, setting himself an alarm on his phone for 7 AM. It said the ice cream parlor would open at 8:30 AM, so he should have enough leeway to get away before anyone came to open up. Now he just had to manage to actually fall asleep...

 

Grillby did not fall asleep.

Throughout the night there had been some moments where he... Well, he managed to close his eyes. To kind of drift off enough to not be thinking, worrying, fussing anymore. Maybe even dream a little. But he wouldn't call it sleep. He had still been conscious enough to take in every noise, every movement.

'Sleeping' outside had not been exciting. He might have thought it could be like camping. It was not. It was boring, it was _scary_. Grillby didn't truly realize just _how_ scared he was until he found himself trying to fall asleep on the damp chair of some ice cream parlor.

This was his _life_ now. This wasn't just some temporary state, something he had to do for some days or weeks. He didn't have a home. Didn't have a place to go to. Didn't have any money or anyone he could ask for help.

He was out there in the open, vulnerable for anyone or anything that would hurt him. And he wasn't even _actually_ asleep yet. This wasn't even his vulnerable state, when he wasn't conscious enough to react if anything _actually_ were to happen.

Grillby still started when his alarm eventually went off, almost screaming in surprise. He turned it off quickly, like he was scared of anyone hearing. Of anyone seeing or finding him like this.

He left the ice cream parlor as quickly as he could, leaving no trace he's ever been there, even going as far as to get entirely out of sight of anyone that might go to the ice cream parlor any time soon. He wasn't sure _why_ he was so anxious, this extreme at least. He figured he was just more on alert now that he had nowhere to go. That the worst case scenario has happened, and Grillby had to be scared of finding out the worst case can still get even worse.

He knew it could. He knew this was his first day of not being able to go home. That he hadn't gone through anything yet to actually make him feel as miserable as he did. But maybe knowing he had no home to get back to alone was enough to make one feel pretty damn miserable.

Time seemed to stretch itself endlessly, like a string of freshly chewed chewing gum. It felt just as unpleasant and sticky, too, every passing second sticking to Grillby, leaving a layer on him like dust. It wore him down more and more, making his anxiety grow, making him feel even more miserable.

Everyone has those days in school where they ask themselves if it's finally the last period, but its barely the second. It felt like this for Grillby. How much time had passed? An hour? Two?

Ten minutes.

It turns out he can walk by foot from one end of the town to the other in much less time than he expected. Around forty minutes and then some. Why was he walking through town aimlessly? He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. The library wasn't open yet, they didn't have a mall or anything to go to.

He texted Muffet at one point. To ask if he could come over, so he at least had a place to be at. Could at least feel not entirely left alone. Maybe eat something, at least something small, some snacks.

She didn't reply, though. Like the day before. What, was she starting to go to school suddenly? To rub it under Grillby's nose?

No, this wasn't about him. She wasn't doing this to _get_ at him, she had no reason to. Grillby was just... angry. Angry and not thinking straight.

Grillby sat back on the bench, letting out a frustrated sigh. This was stupid. This wasn't a lot different from any other time Grillby would skip school. It wasn't even later that those times yet. But for some odd reason the time passed so much slower now. He didn't know what to do, where to go, how to spend his time. How would he usually? Would he go to the forest? Punch a tree?

Well. He could. And he did, eventually, at least having a spot now where he felt less watched, less judged. But... it still didn't feel right. Didn't feel like it usually would.

He didn't even go as far as to hit the tree, not feeling like he needed to let out that kinda steam. There was no point in it, really. He'd just hurt his fists again and exhaust himself. He didn't know when he would actually be able to rest properly, so hurting himself, exhausting himself too much... sounded like a bad idea. Something could happen. He wouldn't be ready.

It turns out that his rest came sooner than expected, because by the time his phone vibrated, indicating that he had a text, or several, he had fallen asleep on the forest, his head resting on his suitcase.

He opened his eyes groggily. You'd think there'd be a moment where he'd wake up and not know what was going on, still think he'd be at home, not having adjusted yet. But there actually wasn't. He woke up and his first thought was that he fell asleep in the forest. His second thought was that it didn't matter, he had nowhere else to be anyways.

He got his phone out of his jacket pockets, looking at the too bright screen.

 

Muffet:

You good hun?

You can come over now

Parents arent home

 

Oddly enough, Grillby didn't feel glad or excited about it anymore. It was... convenient. Probably. Having a roof over his head was better than being out in the open, he should use any chance, any time he'd get for that now. But was he actually feeling happy about it? Not really. it just was kind of... a thing now. Even though he's been so frustrated when Muffet hadn't answered at first.

He decided to text her back that he was coming over, picking up his backpack and suitcase to make his way to her.

His clothes were damp from the forest ground, Grillby noticed as he felt over the damp cloth. They weren't wet enough to actually hurt him, but... it was still more than a little uncomfortable.

When Grillby finally arrived at Muffet's, she looked at him like nothing had ever changed. Like he wasn't homeless. She gave him one of her smiles, one that doesn't look evil per-say, but one that simply doesn't look entirely innocent.

"You made it!" She singsonged happily, letting him in. Grillby held himself back on making some kind of comment that he had nowhere else to be, to go, that she _knew_ that. Instead he simply nodded, going in and finding a place to put his bags down.

"Do you think I can... change here?" The elemental asked slightly nervously. "Clothes wet from the forest."

Muffet looked a bit surprised at first, like she still assumed he could just do that at home. Like she didn't quite remember what _happened_. But eventually her memory seemed to catch on and she gave him a nod.

"Sure, let's go to my room," she offered, leading the way ahead. Grillby followed easily, taking his suitcase with his clothes with him, but leaving the backpack behind on the floor.

Muffet didn't leave the room for Grillby to change. Not that he needed her to, he had just... kind of assumed. It did make sense, though. They were a couple, they've seen each other nude. It was still kinda odd having her just sit there by the edge of the bed, watching Grillby undress. She was swinging her legs a little, like a child excited for some kind of present.

Maybe that's what she was, because after Grillby took off his shirt, standing there in only his boxers and socks, he felt four arms wrap around him from behind. Two around his waist, two around his chest. The third pair of arms that wasn't around him was on his back again, gentle, yet firm, her claws noticeable on his flames.

"I think you need to loosen up a little," she purred, her tone low and soft, vibrating through the air. Her body was pushing against him, so she was press against Grillby's back. "Want me to help you, sweetie?"

She didn't exactly wait for an answer, one hand of her lowest pair was already traveling downwards, slipping into the boxers.

No. He didn't want her to help him. But he could tell Muffet was determined. Could tell she would argue to do it if he'd say no. And right now Grillby wanted to get into an argument even less than to have sex.

Plus, maybe she was right. Maybe it would help him loosen up. Feel better. Relax.

So he let her have her way with him.

 

Grillby felt kind of nauseous for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic-verse also has a tumblr dedicated to it, which is [@perhapshomo](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/perhapshomo)


End file.
